ity  of  California 
hern  Regional 
rary  Facility 


STEELE-MACKAYE 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  PANCHRONICON 


THE 

PANCHRONICON 


BY 

HAROLD   STEELE  MACKAYE 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1904 


COPYRIGHT,  1904,  BY 
CHAKLES  SCKIBNER'S  SONS 


Published,  April,  1904 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP     .        .      l 

II.  A  VISIT  TO  THE  PANCHRONICON       .  .23 

III.  A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 38 

IV.  A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 58 

V.  DROOP'S  THEORY  IN  PRACTICE         .        .        .86 

VI.   SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME  .        .  103 
VII.   NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS      .        .        .123 
VIII.    How   FRANCIS    BACON  CHEATED    THE  BAIL 
IFFS.          ....  ...  157 

IX.   PHOSBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN  .        .        .        .179 

X.    How  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER     .  208 

XI.   THE  FAT  KNIGHT  AT  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD       .  242 

XII.    How  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  His  PLAYS          .  258 

XIII.  How  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID  HOMAGE     .        .  277 

XIV.  THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEVALL'S  SUIT     .        .  297 
XV.    How  REBECCA  RETURNED  TO  NEWINGTON     .  317 

XVI.    How  SIR  GUY  KEPT  His  TRYST     .        .        .324 
XVII.    REBECCA'S  TRUMP  CARD  .  340 


1521 436 


THE   PANCHRONICON 

CHAPTEE   I 

THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

THE  two  sisters  were  together  in  their  garden. 

Rebecca  Wise,  turned  forty  and  growing  slightly 
gray  at  the  temples,  was  moving  slowly  from  one  of 
her  precious  plants  to  the  next,  leaning  over  each  to 
pinch  off  a  dead  leaf  or  count  the  buds.  It  was  the 
historic  month  of  May,  1898,  and  May  is  the  paradise 
of  flower  lovers. 

Phoebe  was  eighteen  years  younger  than  her  sister, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  village.  Indeed,  many  declared 
their  belief  that  the  whole  State  of  New  Hampshire 
did  not  contain  her  equal. 

She  was  seated  on  the  steps  of  the  veranda  that 
skirted  the  little  white  cottage,  and  the  absent  gaze 
of  her  frank  blue  eyes  was  directed  through  the  gate 
at  the  foot  of  the  little  path  bordered  by  white  rose 
bushes.  In  her  lap  was  a  bundle  of  papers  yellowed 
by  age  and  an  ivory  miniature,  evidently  taken  from 
the  carved  wooden  box  at  her  side. 

Presently  Rebecca  straightened  her  back  with  a 
slight  grimace  and  looked  toward  her  sister,  holding 

1 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

her  mold-covered  hands  and  fingers  spread  away  from 
her. 

"Well,"  she  inquired,  "hev  ye  found  anythin'?" 

Phoebe  brought  her  gaze  back  from  infinity  and 
replied: 

"No,  I  ain't.  Only  that  one  letter  where  Isaac 
Burton  writes  her  that  the  players  have  come  to 
town." 

"I  don't  see  what  good  them  letters'll  do  ye  in  the 
Shakespeare  class,  then." 

Rebecca  spoke  listlessly — more  interested  in  her 
garden  than  in  her  sister's  search. 

"I  don't  know,"  Phoebe  rejoined,  dreamily.  "It's 
awful  funny — but  whenever  I  take  out  these  old 
letters  there  comes  over  me  the  feelin'  that  I'm  'way 
off  in  a  strange  country — and  I  feel  like  somebody 
else." 

Rebecca  looked  up  anxiously  from  her  work. 

"Them  sort  o'  philanderin'  notions  are  foolish, 
Phoebe,"  she  said,  and  flicked  a  caterpillar  over  the 
fence. 

Phoebe  gave  herself  a  little  shake  and  began  to  tie 
up  the  papers. 

"That's  so,"  she  replied.  "But  they  will  come 
when  I  get  these  out,  an'  I  got  'em  out  thinkin^  the' 
might  be  somethin'  about  Shakespeare  in  'em  for  our 
class." 

She  paused  and  looked  wistfully  at  the  letters 
again. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "how  I  do  wonder  if  he  was 
2 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

among  those  players  at  the  Peacock  Inn  that  day! 
You  know  'players'  is  what  they  called  play-actors 
in  those  days,  and  he  was  a  play-actor,  they  say." 

"Did  he  live  very  far  back,  then?"  said  Rebecca, 
wishing  to  appear  interested,  but  really  intent  upon 
a  new  sprout  at  the  foot  of  the  lilac-bush. 

"Yes,  three  hundred  years  ago.  Three  of  these 
letters  has  a  date  in  1598  exactly." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  at  length  Rebecca 
looked  up  from  the  ground  to  ascertain  its  cause. 
She  frowned  and  drew  her  aching  back  stiffly  straight 
again. 

"Everlastin'ly  lookin'  at  that  pictur'!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "I  declare  to  goodness,  Phoebe  Wise,  folks'll 
think  you're  vain  as  a  pouter  pigeon." 

Phosbe  laughed  merrily,  tossed  the  letters  into  the 
box  and  leaped  to  her  feet.  The  miniature  at  which 
she  had  been  gazing  was  still  in  her  hands. 

"Folks'll  never  see  me  lookin'  at  it,  Rebecca — only 
you,"  she  said. 

Then  with  a  coaxing  tone  and  looking  with  appeal 
ing  archness  at  her  sister,  she  went  on: 

"Is  it  really  like  me,  Rebecca  ?    Honest  true  ?" 

The  elder  woman  merely  grunted  and  moved  on 
to  the  next  bed,  and  Phoebe,  with  another  laugh,  ran 
lightly  into  the  house. 

A  few  moments  later  she  reappeared  at  the  front 
door  with  consternation  on  her  face. 

"Land  o'  goodness,  Rebecca!"  she  cried,  "do  you 
know  what  time  it  is?  Near  onto  one  o'clock,  an' 

3 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

I've  got  to  be  at  the  Shakespeare  class  at  half  past. 
We'll  have  to  dish  up  dinner  right  this  minute,  and 
I  don't  see  how  I  can  change  my  dress  after  it  an' 
help  with  the  dishes  too." 

She  whisked  into  the  house  again,  and  Rebecca  fol 
lowed  her  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

She  was  very  proud  of  her  baby  sister,  proud  of 
her  having  been  "clear  through  high  school/'  and 
proud  of  her  eminence  in  the  local  literary  society. 
There  was  certainly  something  inspiring  in  having 
a  sister  who  was  first  corresponding  secretary  of  the 
Women's  Peltonville  Association  for  the  Study  of 
Shakespearian  History  and  Literature;  and  it  was 
simply  wonderful  how  much  poetry  she  could  repeat 
from  the  pages  of  her  favorite  author. 

Peltonville  Center,  New  Hampshire,  was  one  of 
those  groups  of  neatly  kept  houses  surrounding  a 
prettily  shaded,  triangular  common  which  seem  to  be 
characteristic  of  New  England.  Standing  two  miles 
from  the  nearest  railway  station,  this  little  settlement 
possessed  its  own  combined  store  and  post-office,  from 
whose  narrow  veranda  one  might  watch  the  rising 
generation  playing  Saturday  base-ball  on  the  grassy 
triangle. 

The  traditional  old  meeting-house  stood  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  common,  facing  the  store.  The 
good  old  days  of  brimstone  theology  were  past,  and 
the  descendants  of  the  godly  Puritans  who  raised  this 
steeple  "in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,"  being  now  deprived 

4 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

of  their  chief  source  of  fear,  found  Sunday  meet 
ings  a  bore,  and  a  village  pastor  an  unnecessary 
luxury. 

Indeed,  there  seemed  little  need  of  pastoral  admoni 
tion  in  such  a  town  as  Peltonville  Center.  There  was 
a  grimly  commonplace  and  universal  goodness  every 
where,  and  the  village  was  only  saved  from  uncon 
sciousness  of  its  own  perfection  by  the  individual 
shortcomings  of  one  of  its  citizens.  Fortunately  for 
the  general  self-complacence,  however,  the  necessary 
revealing  contrast  was  found  in  him. 

Copernicus  Droop  was  overfond  of  the  bottle,  and 
in  spite  of  the  prohibition  laws  of  his  State,  he  proved 
himself  a  blessed  example  and  warning  by  a  too  fre 
quent  and  unmistakable  intoxication  in  public.  He 
was  gentle  and  even  apologetic  in  his  cups,  but  he  was 
clearly  a  "slave  of  rum"  and  his  mission  was  there 
fore  fulfilled. 

On  this  first  of  May,  1898,  a  number  of  idle  young 
men  sat  in  a  row  on  the  edge  of  the  store  veranda. 
Some  were  whittling,  some  making  aimless  marks  in 
the  dust  with  a  stick.  All  leaned  limply  forward, 
with  their  elbows  on  their  knees. 

It  was  clearly  not  a  Sunday,  for  the  meeting-house 
was  open,  and  from  time  to  time,  one  or  perhaps  two 
young  women  together  passed  into  the  cool  and  silent 
room.  The  loungers  at  the  store  let  none  escape  their 
notice,  and  the  name  of  each  damsel  was  passed  down 
the  line  in  an  undertone  as  its  owner  entered  the 
church. 

5 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

A  lantern-jawed  young  farmer  at  the  end  of  the 
row  slowly  brushed  the  shavings  from  his  clothes  and 
remarked : 

"Thet's  the  secon'  meetin'  of  the  Shekspeare  class 
this  month,  ain't  it?" 

"Yep,  an'  there'll  be  two  more  afore  the  summer 
boarders  comes  up " 

The  second  speaker  would  have  continued,  but  he 
was  here  interrupted  by  a  third,  who  whispered 
loudly : 

"Say,  fellers,  there  goes  Copernicus." 

All  eyes  were  raised  and  unanimously  followed  the 
shabby  figure  which  had  just  emerged  from  behind 
the  church  and  now  started  into  the  road  leading 
away  from  the  common  toward  the  north. 

"Walks  pretty  straight  fer  him,  don't  he?"  snick 
ered  the  first  speaker. 

"He's  not  ben  tight  fer  two  days." 

"Bet  ye  a  jack-knife  he'll  be  spreein'  it  fer  all  he's 
wuth  to-morrow." 

Fortunately  these  comments  did  not  reach  the  ears 
of  their  object,  who,  all  unconscious  of  the  interest 
which  he  inspired,  made  good  his  way  at  a  fairly 
rapid  pace. 

Presently  he  stopped. 

With  muslin  skirts  swaying,  hair  rumpled,  and  fair 
young  face  flushed  with  exertion,  Phoebe  Wise  was 
hurrying  toward  the  common.  She  was  almost  run 
ning  in  her  haste,  for  she  was  late  and  the  Shake 
speare  class  was  a  momentous  institution. 

6 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

"Oh,  say,  Cousin  Phoebe,"  was  the  man's  greeting, 
"can  you  tell  me  ef  yer  sister's  to  home?" 

The  young  girl  came  to  a  sudden  full  stop  in  her 
surprise.  This  cousinly  greeting  from  the  village 
reprobate  was  as  exciting  and  as  inexplicable  as  it  was 
unheard  of. 

"Why,  Mr.  Droop!"  she  exclaimed,  "I— I— I 
s'pose  so." 

The  truth  was  the  truth,  after  all.  But  it  was 
hard  on  Kebecca.  What  could  this  man  want  with 
her  sister? 

Droop  nodded  and  passed  on. 

"Thank  ye.    Don't  stop  fer  me,"  he  said. 

Phrebe  moved  forward  slowly,  watching  Copernicus 
over  her  shoulder.  She  noted  his  steady  steps  and 
pale  face  and,  reassured,  resumed  her  flying  progress 
with  redoubled  vigor.  After  all,  Kebecca  was  forty- 
two  years  old  and  well  able  to  take  care  of  herself. 

Meanwhile,  Rebecca  Wise,  having  carefully  wrung 
out  her  dishcloth,  poured  out  the  water  and  swept  the 
little  sink,  was  slowly  untying  her  kitchen  apron,  full 
of  a  thankful  sense  of  the  quiet  hour  before  her 
wherein  to  knit  and  muse  beside  the  front  window  of 
her  little  parlor. 

In  the  centre  of  this  room  there  stood  a  wide,  round 
table,  bearing  a  large  kerosene-lamp  and  the  week's 
mending.  At  the  back  and  opposite  the  two  win 
dows  stood  the  well-blacked,  shiny,  air-tight  stove. 
Above  this  was  a  wooden  mantel,  painted  to  imitate 
marble,  whereon  were  deposited  two  photographs, 

7 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

four  curious  Chinese  shells,  and  a  plaster  cross  to 
which  there  clung  a  very  plaster  young  woman  in 
scant  attire,  the  whole  being  marked  "Rock  of  Ages" 
in  gilt  letters  at  the  base. 

Horse-hair  furniture  in  all  the  glory  of  endless 
"tidies"  was  arranged  against  walls  bedight  with 
a  rainbow-like  wilderness  of  morning-glories.  The 
ceiling  was  of  white  plaster,  and  the  floor  was  painted 
white  and  decked  here  and  there  with  knitted  rag- 
carpets,  on  whose  Joseph's-coated  surfaces  Rebecca 
loved  to  gaze  when  in  retrospective  mood.  In  those 
humble  floor-coverings  her  knowing  eyes  recognized 
her  first  clocked  stockings  and  Phoebe's  baby  cloak. 
There  was  her  brother  Robert's  wool  tippet  em 
balmed  in  loving  loops  with  the  remnants  of  his  wife's 
best  Sunday-go-to-meetin'  ribbons.  These  two  had 
long  been  dead,  but  their  sister's  loving  eyes  recre 
ated  them  in  rag-carpet  dreams  wherein  she  lived 
again  those  by-gone  days. 

Rebecca  had  just  seated  herself  and  was  unrolling 
her  work,  when  her  eyes  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man's 
form  through  the  window.  He  had  passed  into  her 
gate  and  was  approaching  the  door.  She  leaned  for 
ward  for  a  good  look  and  then  dropped  back  into  her 
chair  with  a  gasp  of  surprise. 

"Copernicus  Droop!" she  exclaimed, "did  you  ever!" 

She  sat  in  rigid  astonishment  until  she  heard  his 
timid  knock,  followed  by  the  sound  of  shoes  vigor 
ously  wiped  upon  the  door-mat. 

"Well,  come!  Thet's  a  comfort!"  she  thought. 
8 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

"He  won't  muss  the  carpet" — and  she  rose  to  admit 
her  visitor. 

"Good  mornin',"  said  Droop,  timidly.  "I  seen 
Cousin  Phoebe  a-runnin'  down  the  road,  an'  I  sorter 
thought  I'd  run  in  an'  see  how  you  was." 

"Come  right  in,"  said  Kebecca,  in  non-committal 
tones.  She  shut  the  door  and  followed  him  into  the 
parlor. 

"Here,  give  me  yer  hat,"  she  continued.  "Set 
right  there.  How  be  ye  ?" 

Droop  obeyed.  In  a  few  moments  the  two  were 
seated  facing  each  other,  and  Rebecca's  needles  were 
already  busy.  There  was  an  interval  of  awkward 
silence. 

"Well,  what  did  ye  come  fer?" 

It  was  Rebecca  who  broke  the  spell.  In  her  usual 
downright  fashion,  she  came  to  the  point  at  once. 
She  thought  it  as  well  he  should  know  that  she  was 
not  deceived  by  his  polite  pretence  of  casual  friendly 
interest. 

Droop  settled  forward  with  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
brought  his  finger-tips  carefully  and  accurately  to 
gether.  He  found  this  action  amazingly  promotive 
of  verbal  accuracy. 

"Well,  Cousin  Rebecca,"  he  began,  slowly,  "I'm 
lookin'  fer  a  partner."  He  paused,  considering  how 
to  proceed. 

The  spinster  let  her  hands  drop  in  speechless  won 
der.  The  audacity  of  the  man!  He — to  her — a  pro 
posal!  At  her  age!  From  him! 

9 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Fortunately  the  next  few  words  disclosed  her 
error,  and  she  blushed  for  it  as  she  lifted  her  work 
again,  turning  nearer  the  window  as  if  for  better 
light. 

"Yes,"  Droop  proceeded,  "I've  a  little  business 
plan,  an'  it  needs  capital  an'  a  partner." 

He  waited,  but  there  was  no  response. 

"Capital  an'  a  partner,"  he  repeated,  "an'  intelli 
gence  an'  ambition.  So  I  come  to  you." 

Rebecca  turned  toward  him  again,  scarcely  less 
surprised  now  than  before. 

"To  me !  D'ye  mean  to  say  ye've  me  in  yer  mind 
fer  a  partner — with  capital?" 

Droop  nodded  slowly  and  compressed  his  lips. 

"Well,  I  want  to  know!"  she  exclaimed,  helplessly. 

"Oh,  I  know  you  ain't  overly  rich  right  now," 
said  Droop,  apologetically;  "but  it  warn't  no  secret 
thet  ye  might  hev  hed  Joe  Chandler  ef  ye  hadn't  ben 
so  shifty  in  yer  mind  an'  fell  betwixt  two  stools — an' 
Lord  knows  Joe  Chandler  was  as  rich  as — as  Peter 
Craigin  down  to  Keene — pretty  nigh." 

Again  Rebecca  blushed,  but  this  time  in  anger. 

"See  here,  Copernicus  Droop — "  she  began. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  nothin'  mean,  now,"  he  insisted, 
earnestly.  "I'm  jest  leadin'  up  to  the  pint  sorter 
natural  like — breakin'  the  thing  easy,  ye  know." 

"What  air  you  a-drivin'  at?" 

Droop  shifted  uneasily  in  his  seat  and  ran  his  finger 
around  inside  of  his  collar  before  he  replied: 

"Ye  see,  it's  sorter  hard  to  explain.  It's  this  way. 
10 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

I  hev  a  mighty  fine  plan  in  my  mind  founded  on  a 
mixin'  up  of  astronomical  considerations  with  prior 
inventions ' ' 

"Mister  Droop!"  exclaimed  his  hostess,  gazing  se 
verely  into  his  eyes,  "ef  you  think  I'll  let  you  go  to 
drinkin'  rum  till " 

"Honest  to  goodness,  Miss  Wise,  I've  not  teched  a 
drop!"  cried  Droop,  leaping  to  his  feet  and  leaning 
forward  quickly.  "You  may  smell  my  breath  ef " 

A  violent  push  sent  him  back  to  his  chair. 

"Thet'll  do,  Mr.  Droop.  I'll  undertake  to  believe 
ye  fer  once,  but  I'll  thank  ye  to  speak  plain  English." 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  he  sighed,  plaintively.  "I  don't 
blame  ye  fer  not  takin'  to  it  quick.  I  didn't  myself 
at  first.  Well — here.  Ye  see — ye  know " 

He  paused  and  swallowed  hard,  gazing  at  the  ceil 
ing  for  inspiration.  Then  he  burst  out  suddenly: 

"Ye  know  the  graphophone  an'  the  kodak  and  the 
biograph  an'  all  them  things  what  ye  can  see  down 
to  Keene?" 

Rebecca  nodded  slowly,  with  suspicion  still  in  her 
eye. 

"Well,  the's  a  heap  o'  things  ben  invented  since 
the  Centennial  of  1876.  Don't  you  s'pose  they've 
made  hills  o'  money  out  o'  them  things — with  patents 
an'  all?" 

"Of  course." 

"An'  don't  you  s'pose  that  ef  anybody  in  1876  was 
to  up  an'  bring  out  sech  inventions  all  at  once  he'd 
be  bigger  than  all  the  other  inventors  put  together!" 

11 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Rebecca  slowly  pushed  her  needle  through  her 
hair,  which  was  a  sign  of  thoughtfulness. 

"Wai,  o'  course,"  she  said,  at  length,  "ef  anybody 
hed  aben  smart  enough  to've  invented  all  them  things 
in  1876  he'd  aben  a  pretty  big  man,  I  guess." 

Droop  edged  forward  eagerly. 

"An'  s'posen'  that  you  hed  married  Joe  Chandler 
back  in  1876,  an'  you  was  rich  enough  to  back  up 
an  inventor  like  that,  an'  he  come  to  you  an'  offered 
to  give  you  half  ef  you'd  up  an'  help  him  put  'em  on 
the  market,  an'  s'posen' " 

"What  the  land  sake's  the  use  o'  s'posin'?"  Re 
becca  cried,  sharply.  "This  is  1898,  an'  I  ain't  mar 
ried,  thanks  be  to  goodness!" 

"Ah,  but  ye  could  be,  ef  we  was  in  1876!  There, 
there — I  know  what  you  want  to  say — but  'taint  so! 
What  would  ye  say  ef  I  was  to  tell  ye  that  all  ye've 
got  to  do  is  jest  to  get  into  a  machine  I've  got  an'  I 
can  take  ye  back  to  1876  in  next  to  no  time!  What 
would  ye  say " 

"I'd  say  ye  was  tighter'n  a  boiled  owl,  Copernicus 
Droop." 

"But  I  ain't,  I  ain't!"  he  almost  screamed.  "I  tell 
ye  I  hevn't  teched  liquor  fer  two  days.  I've  re 
formed.  Ef  ye  won't  smell  my  breath " 

"Then  you're  plum  crazy,"  she  interrupted. 

"No,  nor  crazy  either,"  he  insisted.  "Why,  the 
whole  principle  of  it  is  so  awful  simple!  Ef  you'd 
ben  to  high  school,  now,  an'  knew  astronomy  an'  all, 
you'd  see  right  through  it  like  nothin'." 

12 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

"Well,  then,  you  c'n  explain  it  to  them  as  hez  ben 
to  high  school,  an'  that's  sister  Phoebe.  Here  she 
comes  now." 

She  went  at  once  to  the  door  to  admit  the  new 
comer.  Her  visitor,  watching  the  pretty  younger 
sister  as  she  stepped  in,  rosy  and  full  of  life,  could  not 
but  remark  the  contrast  between  the  two  women. 

"Twenty-two  years  makes  a  heap  o'  difference!" 
he  muttered.  "But  Kebecca  was  jest  as  pretty  her 
self,  back  in  1876." 

"Look,  Kebecca!"  cried  Phoebe,  as  she  entered  the 
door,  "here's  a  new  book  Mrs.  Bolton  lent  me  to-day. 
All  about  Bacon  writing  Shakespeare's  plays,  an'  how 
Bacon  was  a  son  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Do  you  s'pose 
he  really  did?" 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me,  child!"  was  the  nervous  reply. 
"Mr.  Droop's  in  the  parlor." 

Phoebe  had  forgotten  her  short  interview  with 
Droop,  and  she  now  snatched  off  her  hat  in  surprise 
and  followed  her  elder  sister,  nodding  to  their  visitor 
as  she  entered. 

"Set  down,  both  o'  ye,"  said  Eebecca.  "Now, 
then,  Mr.  Droop,  perhaps  you'll  explain." 

Rebecca  was  far  more  mystified  and  interested 
than  she  cared  to  admit.  Her  brusque  manner  was 
therefore  much  exaggerated — a  dissimulation  which 
troubled  her  conscience,  which  was  decidedly  of  the 
tenderest  New  England  brand. 

Poor  Copernicus  experienced  a  sense  of  relief  as 
he  turned  his  eyes  to  those  of  the  younger  sister.  She 

13 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

felt  that  Rebecca's  manner  was  distinctly  cold,  and 
her  own  expression  was  the  more  cordial  in  compen 
sation. 

"Why,  Miss  Phoebe,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "I've  ben 
tellin'  your  sister  about  my  plan  to  go  back  to  the 
Centennial  year — 1876,  ye  know." 

"To— to  what,  Mr.  Droop?" 

Phoebe's  polite  cordiality  gave  place  to  amazed  con 
sternation.  Droop  raised  a  deprecating  hand. 

"Now  don't  you  go  to  think  I'm  tight  or  gone 
crazy.  You'll  understand  it,  fer  you've  ben  to  high 
school.  Now  see!  What  is  it  makes  the  days  go 
by — ain't  it  the  daily  revolution  of  the  sun?" 

Phoebe  put  on  what  her  sister  always  called  "that 
schoolmarm  look"  and  replied: 

"Why,  it's  the  turning  round  of  the  earth  on  its 
axis  once  in " 

"Yes — yes —  It's  all  one — all  one,"  Droop  broke 
in,  eagerly.  "To  put  it  another  way,  it  comes  from 
the  sun  cuttin'  meridians,  don't  it?" 

Rebecca,  who  found  this  technical  and  figurative 
expression  beyond  her,  paused  in  her  knitting  and 
looked  anxiously  at  Phoebe,  to  see  how  she  would  take 
it.  After  a  moment  of  thought,  the  young  woman 
admitted  her  visitor's  premises. 

"Very  good!  An'  you  know  's  well  's  I  do,  Miss 
Phoebe,  that  ef  a  man  travels  round  the  world  the 
same  way  's  the  sun,  he  ketches  up  on  time  a  whole 
day  when  he  gets  all  the  way  round.  In  other  words, 
the  folks  that  stays  at  home  lives  jest  one  day  more 

14 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

than  the  feller  that  goes  round  the  world  that  way. 
Am  I  right?" 

"Of  course." 

Droop  glanced  triumphantly  at  Rebecca.  This  tre 
mendous  admission  on  her  learned  young  sister's  part 
stripped  her  of  all  pretended  coldness.  Her  deep 
interest  was  evident  now  in  her  whole  pose  and  ex 
pression. 

"Now,  then,  jest  follow  me  close,"  Droop  contin 
ued,  sitting  far  forward  in  his  chair  and  pointing  his 
speech  with  a  thin  forefinger  on  his  open  palm. 

"Ef  a  feller  was  to  whirl  clear  round  the  world  an' 
cut  all  the  meridians  in  the  same  direction  as  the  sun, 
an'  he  made  the  whole  trip  around  jest  as  quick  as 
the  sun  did — time  wouldn't  change  a  mite  fer  him, 
would  it?" 

Phoebe  gasped  at  the  suggestion. 

"Why,  I  should  think — of  course " 

She  stopped  and  put  her  hand  to  her  head  in  be 
wilderment. 

"Et's  a  sure  thing!"  Droop  exclaimed,  earnestly. 
"You've  said  yerself  that  the  folks  who  stayed  to 
home  would  live  one  day  longer  than  the  fellow  that 
went  round.  Now,  ef  that  feller  travelled  round  as 
fast  as  the  sun,  the  stay-at-homes  would  only  be  one 
day  older  by  the  time  he  got  back — ain't  that  a  fact?" 

Both  sisters  nodded. 

"Well,  an'  the  traveller  would  be  one  day  younger 
than  they'd  be.  An'  ain't  that  jest  no  older  at  all 
than  when  he  started?" 

15 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"My  goodness!  Mr.  Droop!"  Phoebe  replied> 
feebly.  "I  never  thought  of  that." 

"Well,  ain't  it  so?" 

"Of  course — leastways — why,  it  must  be!" 

"All  right,  then!" 

Droop  rose  triumphantly  to  his  feet,  overcome  by 
his  feelings. 

"Follow  out  that  same  reasonin'  to  the  bitter  end!" 
he  cried,  "an'  what  will  happen  ef  that  traveller 
whirls  round,  cuttin'  meridians  jest  twice  as  fast  as 
the  sun — goin'  the  same  way?" 

He  paused,  but  there  was  no  reply. 

"Why,  as  sure  as  shootin',  I  tell  ye,  that  feller  will 
get  jest  one  day  younger  fer  every  two  whirls  round!" 

There  was  a  long  and  momentous  silence.  The 
tremendous  suggestion  had  for  the  moment  bereft 
both  women  of  all  reasoning  faculty. 

At  length  the  younger  sister  ventured  upon  a  prac 
tical  objection. 

"But  how's  he  goin'  to  whirl  round  as  fast  as  that, 
Mr.  Droop?"  she  said. 

Droop  smiled  indulgently. 

"Et  does  sound  outlandish,  when  ye  think  how  big 
the  world  is.  But  what  if  ye  go  to  the  North  Pole? 
Ain't  all  the  twenty-four  meridians  jammed  up  close 
together  round  that  part  of  the  globe?" 

"Thet's  so,"  murmured  Rebecca,  "I've  seen  it 
many's  the  time  on  the  map  in  Phoebe's  geography 
book." 

"Sure  enough,"  Droop  rejoined.  "Then  ain't  it 
16 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

clear  that  ef  a  feller'll  jest  take  a  grip  on  the  North 
Pole  an'  go  whirlin'  round  it,  he'll  be  cuttin'  me 
ridians  as  fast  as  a  hay-chopper?  Won't  he  see  the 
sun  gettin'  left  behind  an'  whirlin'  the  other  way 
from  what  it  does  in  nature  ?  An'  ef  the  sun  goes  the 
other  way  round,  ain't  it  sure  to  unwind  all  the  time 
thet  it's  ben  a-rollin'  up?" 

Kebecca's  ball  of  yarn  fell  from  her  lap  at  this, 
and,  as  she  followed  it  with  her  eyes,  she  seemed  to 
see  a  practical  demonstration  of  Droop's  marvellous 
theory. 

Phoebe  felt  all  the  tremendous  force  of  Droop's 
logic,  and  she  flushed  with  excitement.  One  last 
practical  objection  was  obvious,  however. 

"The  thing  must  be  all  right,  Mr.  Droop,"  she 
said ;  "an'  come  to  think  of  it,  this  must  be  the  reason 
so  many  folks  have  tried  to  reach  the  North  Pole. 
But  it  never  has  been  reached  yet,  an'  how  are  you 
a-goin'  to  do  it?" 

"You  think  it  never  hez,"  Copernicus  replied. 
"The  fact  is,  though,  that  I've  ben  there." 

"You!"  Phoebe  cried. 

"And  is  there  a  pole  there?"  Rebecca  asked, 
eagerly. 

"The's  a  pole  there,  an'  I've  swung  round  it,  too," 
Droop  replied,  sitting  again  with  a  new  and  delightful 
sense  of  no  longer  being  unwelcome. 

"Here's  how  'twas.  About  a  year  ago  there  come 
to  my  back  door  a  strange-lookin'  man  who'd  hurt  his 
foot  some  way.  I  took  him  in  an'  fixed  him  up — 

17 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

you  know  I  studied  for  a  doctor  once — an'  while  he 
was  bein'  fixed  up,  he  sorter  took  a  fancy  to  me  an' 
he  begun  to  give  me  the  story  of  his  life.  He  said  he 
was  born  in  the  year  2582,  an'  had  ben  takin'  what 
he  called  a  historical  trip  into  the  past  ages.  He  went 
on  at  a  great  rate  like  that,  an'  I  thought  he  was  jest 
wanderin'  in  his  mind  with  the  fever,  so  I  humored 
him.  But  he  saw  through  me,  an'  he  wouldn't  take 
no  but  I  should  go  down  into  Burnham's  swamp  with 
him  to  see  how  he'd  done  it. 

"Well,  down  we  went,  and  right  spang  in  the 
thickest  of  the  bushes  an'  muck  we  come  across  the 
queerest  lookin'  machine  that  ever  ye  see! 

"Right  there  an'  then  he  told  me  all  the  scientific 
talk  about  time  an'  astronomy  thet  I've  told  you,  an' 
then  he  tuck  me  into  the  thing.  Fust  thing  I  knew 
he  give  a  yank  to  a  lever  in  the  machinery  an'  there 
was  a  big  jerk  thet  near  threw  me  on  the  back  o'  my 
head.  I  looked  out,  an'  there  we  was  a-flyin'  over  the 
country  through  the  air  fer  the  North  Pole !" 

"There,  now!"  cried  Eebecca,  "didn't  Si  Wilkins' 
boy  Sam  say  he  seen  a  comet  in  broad  daylight  last 
Juno?" 

"Thet  was  us,"  Droop  admitted. 

"And  not  a  soul  believed  him,"  Pho3be  remarked. 

"Well,"  continued  Droop,  "to  make  a  long  story 
short,  thet  future-man  whirled  me  a  few  times  'round 
the  North  Pole — unwound  jest  five  weeks  o'  time, 
an'  back  we  come  to  Peltonville  a-hummin' !" 

"And  then?"  cried  the  two  women  together. 
18 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

"Ef  you'll  believe  me,  there  we  was  back  to  the 
day  he  fust  come — an'  fust  thing  I  knew,  thet  future- 
man  was  a-comin'  up  to  my  back  door,  same  ez  before, 
a-beggin'  to  hev  his  foot  fixed.  It  was  hard  on  him, 
but  I  was  convinced  fer  keeps." 

Copernicus  shook  his  head  sadly,  with  retrospective 
sadness. 

"An'  where  is  the  future-man  now?"  Phoebe  asked. 

"Tuk  cold  on  his  lungs  at  the  North  Pole,"  said 
Droop,  solemnly.  "Hed  pneumonia  an'  up'n  died." 

"But  there  warn't  nobody  round  heerd  of  him 
except  you,"  said  Rebecca.  "Who  buried  him?" 

"Ah,  thet's  one  o'  the  beauties  o'  the  hull  busi 
ness.  He'd  showed  me  all  the  ropes  on  his  machine 
• — his  Panchronicon,  as  he  called  it — an'  so  I  up'n 
flew  round  the  North  Pole  the  opposite  way  as  soon's 
he  passed  away,  till  I'd  made  up  the  five  weeks  we'd 
lost.  Then  when  I  got  back  it  was  five  weeks  after 
his  funeral,  an'  I  didn't  hev  to  bother  about  it." 

The  two  sisters  looked  at  each  other,  quite  over 
come  with  admiration. 

"My  land!"  Rebecca  murmured,  gathering  up  her 
yarn  and  knitting  again.  "Sence  they've  invented 
them  X-rays  an'  took  to  picturin'  folks'  insides,  I  kin 
believe  anythin'." 

"You  don't  hev  to  take  my  word  fer  it,"  Droop 
exclaimed.  "Ef  you'll  come  right  along  with  me  this 
blessed  minute,  I'll  show  you  the  machine  right 
now." 

"I'd  jest  love  to  see  it,"  said  Rebecca,  her  coldness 
19 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

all  forgotten,  "but  it's  mos'  too  late  fer  this  afternoon. 
There's  the  supper  to  get,  you  know,  an' " 

"But  the  plan,  Rebecca,"  Phoebe  cried.  "You've 
forgotten  that  I  haven't  heard  Mr.  Droop's  plan." 

"I  wish  't  you'd  call  me  'Cousin  Copernicus,'  "  said 
Droop,  earnestly.  "You  know  I've  sworn  off — quit 
drinkin'  now." 

Phoebe  blushed  at  his  novel  proposal  and  insisted 
on  the  previous  question. 

"But  what  is  the  plan?"  she  said. 

"Why,  my  idea  is  this,  Cousin  Phoebe.  I  want  we 
should  all  go  back  to  1876  again.  Thet's  the  year 
your  sister  could  hev  married  Joe  Chandler  ef  she'd 
wanted  to." 

Rebecca  murmured  something  unintelligible,  blush 
ing  furiously,  with  her  eyes  riveted  to  her  knitting. 
Phoebe  looked  surprised. 

"You  know  you  could,  Cousin  Rebecca,"  Droop 
insisted.  "Now  what  I  say  is,  let's  go  back  there. 
I'll  invent  the  graphophone,  the  kodak,  the  vitascope, 
an'  Milliken's  cough  syrup  an'  a  lot  of  other  big  mod 
ern  inventions.  Rebecca'll  marry  Chandler,  an'  she 
an'  her  husband  can  back  up  my  big  inventions  with 
capital.  Why,  Cousin  Phoebe,"  he  cried,  with  enthu 
siasm,  "we'll  all  hev  a  million  apiece!" 

The  sentimental  side  of  Droop's  plan  first  monopo 
lized  Phoebe's  attention. 

"Rebecca  Wise!"  she  exclaimed,  turning  with 
mock  severity  to  face  her  sister.  "Why  is  it  I've 
never  heard  tell  about  this  love  affair  before  now? 

20 


THE  THEORY  OF  COPERNICUS  DROOP 

Why,  Joe  Chandler's  just  a  fine  man.  Is  it  you  that 
broke  his  heart  an'  made  him  an  old  bachelor  all  his 
life?" 

Rebecca  must  have  dropped  a  stitch,  for  she  turned 
toward  the  window  again  and  brought  her  knitting 
very  close  to  her  face. 

"What  brought  ye  so  early  to  home,  Phrebe?"  she 
said.  "Warn't  there  no  Shakespeare  meetin'  to 
day?" 

"No.  Mis'  Beecher  was  to  lead,  an'  she's  been 
taken  sick,  so  I  came  right  home.  But  you  can't 
sneak  out  of  answerin'  me  like  that,  Miss  Slyboots," 
Phoebe  continued,  in  high  spirits. 

Seating  herself  on  the  arm  of  her  sister's  chair, 
she  put  her  arms  about  her  neck  and,  bending  over, 
whispered: 

"Tell  me  honest,  now,  Rebecca,  did  Joe  Chandler 
ever  propose  to  you?" 

"No,  he  never  did!"  the  elder  sister  exclaimed, 
rising  suddenly. 

"Now,  Mr.  Droop,"  she  continued,  "your  hull  plan 
is  jest  too  absurd  to  think  of " 

Droop  tried  to  expostulate,  but  she  raised  her  voice, 
speaking  more  quickly. 

"An'  you  come  'round  again  after  supper  an'  we'll 
tell  ye  what  we've  decided,"  she  concluded. 

The  humor  of  this  reply  was  lost  on  Copernicus, 
but  he  moved  toward  the  door  with  a  sense  of  dis 
tinct  encouragement. 

"Remember  the  rumpus  we'll  make  with  all  them 
21 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

inventions,"  Droop  called  back  as  he  walked  toward 
the  gate,  "think  of  the  money  we'll  make!" 

But  Rebecca  was  thinking  of  something  very  dif 
ferent  as  she  stood  at  the  front  door  gazing  with 
softened  eyes  at  the  pasture  and  woods  beyond  the 
road.  She  seemed  to  see  a  self-willed  girl  breaking 
her  own  heart  and  another's  rather  than  acknowledge 
a  silly  error.  She  was  wondering  if  that  had  really 
been  Rebecca  Wise.  She  felt  again  all  the  old  be 
witching  heart-pangs,  sweetened  and  mellowed  by 
time,  and  she  wondered  if  she  were  now  really  Re 
becca  Wise. 


22 


CHAPTEK   H 

A  VISIT   TO   THE   PANCHRONICON 

AT  precisely  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  a  knock 
was  again  heard  at  the  door  of  the  Wise  home,  and 
Droop  was  admitted  by  the  younger  sister.  She  did 
not  speak,  and  her  face  was  invisible  in  the  dark  hall. 
The  visitor  turned  to  the  right  and  entered  the  par 
lor,  followed  by  his  young  hostess.  Rebecca  was  sit 
ting  by  the  lamp,  sewing.  As  she  looked  up  and 
nodded,  Droop  saw  that  her  features  expressed  only 
gloomy  severity.  He  turned  in  consternation  and 
caught  sight  for  the  first  time  of  Phoebe's  face.  Her 
eyes  and  pretty  nose  were  red  and  her  mouth  was 
drawn  into  a  curve  of  plaintive  rebellion. 

"Set  down,  Mr.  Droop.  Give  me  yer  hat,"  she 
said ;  and  there  was  a  suspicious  catch  in  her  voice. 

The  visitor  seated  himself  by  the  centre-table  be 
side  the  lamp  and  sat  slowly  rubbing  his  hands,  the 
while  he  gazed  mournfully  from  one  to  the  other  of 
the  silent  sisters.  Phoebe  sat  on  the  long  horse-hair 
"settle,"  and  played  moodily  with  the  tassel  hanging 
at  its  head. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Each  of  the  women 
seemed  bent  on  forcing  the  other  to  break  the  silence. 

23 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Poor  Droop  felt  that  his  plans  were  doomed,  and 
he  dared  not  urge  either  woman  to  speech,  lest  he 
hear  the  death-sentence  of  his  hopes.  Finally,  how 
ever,  the  awkward  silence  became  unbearable. 

"Well?"  he  said,  inquiringly,  still  rubbing  his 
hands. 

"Well,"  Kebecca  exclaimed,  "it  seems  it's  not  to 
be  done,"  and  she  looked  reproachfully  at  Phoebe. 

The  words  fulfilled  his  fears,  but  the  tone  and 
glance  produced  a  thrill  of  hope.  It  was  evident  that 
Rebecca  at  least  favored  his  plans. 

Turning  now  to  the  younger  sister,  Droop  asked, 
in  a  melancholy  tone: 

"Don't  you  want  to  get  rich,  Cousin  Phoebe?" 

"Rich — me!"  she  replied,  indignantly.  "A  mighty 
lot  of  riches  it'll  bring  me,  won't  it?  That's  just  what 
riles  me  so!  You  an'  Rebecca  just  think  of  nothin' 
but  your  own  selves.  You  never  stop  to  think  of 
me!" 

Droop  opened  his  eyes  very  wide  indeed,  and  Re 
becca  said,  earnestly: 

"Phoebe,  you  know  you  ain't  got  any  call  to  say 
sech  a  thing!" 

"Oh,  haven't  I?"  cried  Phoabe,  in  broken  accents. 
"Did  either  of  you  think  what  would  happen  to  me 
if  we  all  went  back  to  18Y6  ?  Two  years  old !  That's 
what  I'd  be !  A  little  toddling  baby,  like  Susan  Mel- 
lick's  Annie!  Put  to  bed  before  supper — carried 
about  in  everybody's  arms — fed  on  a  bottle  and — 
and  perhaps — and  perhaps  getting  spanked!" 

24 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PANCHRONICON 

With  the  last  word,  Phoebe  burst  into  tears  of 
mingled  grief  and  mortification  and  rushed  from  the 
room. 

The  others  dared  not  meet  each  other's  guilty  eyes. 
Droop  gazed  about  the  room  in  painful  indecision. 
He  could  not  bear  to  give  up  all  hope,  and  yet — this 
unforeseen  objection  really  seemed  a  very  serious 
one.  To  leave  the  younger  sister  behind  was  out  of 
the  question.  On  the  other  hand,  the  consequences 
of  the  opposite  course  were — well,  painful  to  her  at 
least. 

In  his  nervousness  he  unconsciously  grasped  a 
small  object  on  the  table  upon  which  his  left  hand 
had  been  lying.  It  was  a  miniature  daintily  painted 
on  ivory.  He  looked  vacantly  upon  it;  his  mind  at 
first  quite  absent  from  his  eyes.  But  as  he  gazed, 
something  familiar  in  the  lovely  face  depicted  there 
fixed  his  attention.  Before  long  he  was  examining 
the  picture  with  the  greatest  interest. 

"Well,  now!"  he  exclaimed,  at  length.  "Ain't 
that  pretty!  Looks  jest  like  her,  too.  When  was 
that  tuck,  Miss  Wise?" 

"That  ain't  Phcebe,"  said  Rebecca,  dejectedly. 

"Ain't  Phoebe!"  Droop  cried,  in  amazement. 
"Why,  it's  the  finest  likeness — why — but — it  must 
be  yer  sister!" 

"Well,  'tain't.  Thet  pictur  is  jest  three  hundred 
years  old." 

"Three  hundred — "  he  began — then  very  slowly, 
"Well,  now,  do  tell!"  he  said. 

25 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Phoebe's  got  the  old  letter  that  tells  about  it. 
The's  a  lot  of  'em  in  that  little  carved-wood  box 
there.  They  say  it  come  over  in  the  Mayflower." 

Droop  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  picture. 
The  likeness  was  perfect.  Here  was  the  pretty  youth 
ful  oval  of  her  face — the  same  playful  blue  eye — 
the  sensitive  red  lips  seeming  about  to  sparkle  into 
a  smile — even  the  golden  brown  mist  of  hair  that 
hid  the  delicately  turned  ear! 

Then  Droop  suddenly  remembered  his  plans,  and 
with  his  hand  he  dropped  the  picture  as  his  mind  dis 
missed  it.  He  rose  and  looked  about  for  his  hat. 

"Ye  wouldn't  want  to  come  back  to  '76  with  me 
an'  leave  Cousin  Phrebe  behind,  would  ye?"  he  sug 
gested,  dismally. 

"What!"  cried  Rebecca,  giving  vent  to  her  pent-up 
feelings,  "an'  never  see  my  sister  again!  Why,  I'd 
hev  to  come  livin'  along  up  behind  her,  and,  all  I 
could  do,  I'd  never  catch  up  with  her — never!  You'd 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  stand  there  an'  think  o'  sech  a 
thing,  Copernicus  Droop!" 

For  some  time  he  stood  with  bent  head  and  shoul 
ders,  twirling  his  hat  between  his  fingers.  At  length 
he  straightened  up  suddenly  and  moved  toward  the 
door. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "the'  isn't  any  use  you  seein'  the 
Panchronicon  now,  is  the'  ?" 

"What's  it  like,  Mr.  Droop?"  Rebecca  inquired. 

He  paused  helpless  before  the  very  thought  of  de 
scription. 

26 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Oh,"  he  said,  weakly,  "et's  like — et's  a — why — 
Oh,  it's  a  machine!" 

"Hez  it  got  wings?" 

"Not  exactly  wings,"  he  began,  then,  more  ear 
nestly,  "why  don't  ye  come  and  see  it,  anyway! 
It  can't  do  ye  any  harm  to  jest  look  at  it!" 

Rebecca  dropped  her  hands  into  her  lap  and  re 
plied,  with  a  hesitating  manner: 

"I'd  like  to  fust  rate — it  must  be  an  awful  queer 
machine!  But  I  don't  get  much  time  fer  traipsin* 
'round  now  days." 

"Why  can't  ye  come  right  along  now?"  Droop 
asked,  eagerly.  "It's  dry  as  a  bone  underfoot  down 
in  the  swamp  now.  The's  ben  no  rain  in  a  long 
time." 

She  pondered  some  time  before  replying.  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  reject  the  proposal  as  preposter 
ous.  The  hour  seemed  very  ill  chosen.  Rebecca  was 
not  accustomed  to  leaving  home  for  any  purpose  at 
night,  and  she  was  extremely  conservative. 

On  the  other  hand,  she  felt  that  only  under  cover 
of  the  darkness  could  she  consent  to  go  anywhere  in 
company  with  the  village  reprobate.  Every  tongue 
in  the  place  would  be  set  wagging  were  she  seen 
walking  with  Copernicus  Droop.  She  had  not  herself 
known  how  strong  was  the  curiosity  which  his  star 
tling  theories  and  incredible  story  had  awakened  in 
her.  She  looked  up  at  her  visitor  with  indecision  in 
her  eyes. 

"I  don't  see  how  I  could  go  now,"  she  said.    "Be- 
27 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

sides,  it's  mos'  too  dark  to  see  the  thing,  ain't 
it?" 

"Not  a  mite,"  he  replied,  confidently.  "The's 
lights  inside  I  can  turn  on,  an'  we'll  see  the  hull  thing 
better'n  by  daylight." 

Then,  as  she  still  remained  undecided,  he  con 
tinued,  in  an  undertone: 

"Cousin  Phoebe's  up  in  her  room,  ain't  she?  Ye 
might  not  get  another  chance  so  easy." 

He  had  guessed  instinctively  that,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  Rebecca  preferred  not  revealing  to 
Phoebe  her  own  continued  interest  in  the  wonderful 
machine. 

The  suggestion  was  vital.  Phoebe  was  in  all  prob 
ability  sulking  in  her  own  bedroom,  and  in  that  event 
would  not  quit  it  for  an  hour.  It  seemed  now  or 
never. 

Rebecca  rolled  up  her  knitting  work  and  rose  to 
her  feet. 

"Jest  wait  here  a  spell,"  she  said,  rapidly.  "I 
won't  be  a  minute!" 

Shortly  afterward,  two  swiftly  moving,  shadowy 
figures  emerged  from  the  little  white  gate  and  turned 
into  a  dark  lane  made  more  gloomy  by  overhanging 
maples.  This  was  the  shortest  route  to  Burnham's 
swamp. 

Copernicus  was  now  more  hopeful.  He  could  not 
but  feel  that,  if  the  elder  sister  came  face  to  face  with 
his  marvellous  machine,  good  must  result  for  his 

28 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PANCHRONICON 

plans.  Rebecca  walked  with  nervous  haste,  dreading 
Phoebe's  possible  discovery  of  this  most  unconven 
tional  conduct. 

The  night  was  moonless,  and  the  two  stumbled  and 
groped  their  way  down  the  lane  at  a  pace  whose  slow 
ness  exasperated  Rebecca. 

"Ef  I'd  a-known!"  she  exclaimed,  under  her 
breath. 

"We're  'most  there,  Cousin  Rebecca,"  said  Coper 
nicus,  with  deprecating  softness.  "Here,  give  me 
holt  o'  yer  hand  while  we  climb  over  the  wall.  Here's 
Burnham's  swamp  right  now." 

Accepting  the  proffered  aid,  Rebecca  found  her 
self  in  the  midst  of  a  thicket  of  bushes,  many  of 
which  were  thorny  and  all  of  which  seemed  bent 
upon  repelling  nocturnal  adventurers. 

Droop,  going  ahead,  did  his  best  to  draw  aside  the 
obstinate  twigs,  and  Rebecca  followed  him  with  half- 
averted  head,  lifting  her  skirts  and  walking  side- 
wise. 

"  'Mighty  lucky,  'tain't  wet  weather!"  she  mum 
bled. 

At  that  moment  her  guide  stood  still. 

"There!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  half -awed  voice. 

Rebecca  stopped  and  gazed  about.  A  little  to  the 
right  the  dark  gray  of  the  sky  was  cut  by  a  looming 
black  mass  of  uncertain  form. 

It  looked  like  the  crouching  phantom  of  some 
shapeless  sea-monster.  Rebecca  half  expected  to  see 
it  dissolve  like  a  wind-driven  fog. 

29 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Their  physical  sight  could  distinguish  nothing  of 
the  outer  characteristics  of  this  mysterious  structure; 
but  for  this  very  reason,  the  imagination  was  the 
more  active.  Rebecca,  with  all  her  directness  of 
nature  and  commonplace  experience,  felt  in  this  un 
wonted  presence  that  sense  of  awed  mystery  which 
she  would  have  called  a  "creepy  feeling." 

What  unknown  and  incomprehensible  forces  were 
locked  within  that  formless  mass?  By  what  manner 
of  race  as  yet  unborn  had  its  elements  been  brought 
together — no,  no — would  they  be  brought  together? 
How  assume  a  comfortable  mental  attitude  toward 
this  creation  whose  present  existence  so  long  ante 
dated  its  own  origin? 

One  sentiment,  at  least,  Rebecca  could  entertain 
with  hearty  consistency.  Curiosity  asserted  its  su 
premacy  over  every  other  feeling. 

"Can't  we  get  into  the  thing,  an'  light  a  candle  or 
suthin'?"  she  said. 

"Of  course  we  can,"  said  Droop.  "That's  what  I 
brought  ye  here  fer.  Take  holt  o'  my  hand  an'  lift 
yer  feet,  or  you'll  stumble." 

Leading  his  companion  by  the  hand,  Copernicus 
approached  the  dark  form,  moving  with  great  cau 
tion  over  the  clumps  of  grassy  turf.  Presently  he 
reached  the  side  of  the  machine.  Rebecca  heard  him 
strike  it  with  his  hand  two  or  three  times,  as  though 
groping  for  something.  Then  she  was  drawn  forward 
again,  and  suddenly  found  herself  entering  an  in 
visible  doorway.  She  stumbled  on  the  threshold  and 

30 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PANCHRONICON 

flung  out  her  free  hand  for  support.  She  clutched 
at  a  hand-rail  that  seemed  to  lead  spirally  upward. 

Droop's  voice  came  out  of  the  blackness. 

"Jest  wait  here  a  minute,"  he  said.  "I'll  go  up 
an'  turn  on  the  light." 

She  heard  him  climbing  a  short  flight  of  stairs,  and 
a  few  moments  later  a  flood  of  light  streamed  from 
a  doorway  above  her  head,  amply  lighting  the  little 
hallway  in  which  Rebecca  was  standing. 

The  hand-rail  to  which  she  was  already  clinging 
skirted  the  iron  stairs  leading  to  the  light,  and  she 
started  at  once  up  this  narrow  spiral. 

She  was  met  at  the  door  by  Copernicus,  who  was 
smiling  with  a  proud  complacency. 

"Wai,  Cousin  Rebecca,"  he  said,  with  a  sweeping 
gesture  indicating  their  general  surroundings,  "what 
d'ye  think  o'  this?" 

They  were  standing  at  the  head  of  a  sort  of  com 
panion-way  in  a  roomy  antechamber  much  resem 
bling  the  general  cabin  of  a  luxurious  old-time  sail 
ing-packet.  The  top  of  the  stairs  was  placed  between 
two  windows  in  one  side  wall  of  the  machine,  through 
which  there  was  just  then  entering  a  gentle  breeze. 
Two  similar  openings  faced  these  in  the  opposite  side 
wall,  and  under  each  of  the  four  windows  there 
was  a  long  wooden  bench  carrying  a  flat  mattress 
cushion. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room,  on  a  square  deep-piled 
rug,  stood  a  table  covered  with  a  red  cloth  and  sur 
rounded  by  three  or  four  solid-looking  upholstered 

31 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

chairs.  Here  were  some  books  and  papers,  and  di 
rectly  over  the  table  a  handsome  electric  chandelier 
hung  from  the  ceiling  of  dark-wood  panels.  This 
was  the  source  of  their  present  illumination. 

"This  here's  the  settin'-room,"  Droop  explained. 
"An'  these  are  the  state-rooms — that's  what  he  called 
'em." 

He  walked  toward  two  doors  in  one  of  the  end 
walls  and,  opening  one  of  them,  turned  the  switch  of 
the  lamp  within. 

"'Lectric  lights  in  it,  like  down  to  Keene,"  Re 
becca  remarked,  approaching  the  cabin  and  peer 
ing  in. 

She  saw  a  small  bedroom  comfortably  furnished. 
The  carpet  was  apparently  new,  and  on  the  taste 
fully  papered  walls  hung  a  number  of  small  oil-paint 
ings. 

Droop  opened  the  other  door. 

"They're  both  alike,"  he  said. 

Rebecca  glanced  into  the  second  apartment,  which 
was  indeed  the  counterpart  of  its  companion. 

"Well,  it  wouldn't  do  no  harm  to  sweep  an'  beat 
these  carpets!"  she  exclaimed.  Then,  slipping  her 
forefinger  gingerly  over  the  edge  of  a  chair:  "Look 
at  that  dust!"  she  said,  severely,  holding  up  her  hand 
for  inspection. 

But  Droop  had  bustled  off  to  another  part  of  the 
room. 

"Here's  lockers  under  these  window-seats,"  he  ex 
plained,  with  a  dignified  wave  of  the  hand.  "Here's 

32 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PANCHRONICON 

books  an'  maps  in  this  set  o'  shelves.  Here's  a  small 
planner  that  plays  itself  when  you  turn  on  the  elec 
tricity " 

There  was  a  stumbling  crash  and  a  suppressed  cry 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

With  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  Droop  leaped  to  the 
chandelier  and  turned  out  the  lights;  then  rushed  to 
the  state-rooms  and  was  about  to  turn  their  switches 
as  well,  when  a  familiar  voice  greeted  their  ears  from 
below — 

"Don't  be  scared — it's  only  Phoebe." 

"What  ever  possessed — "  began  Rebecca,  in  a  low 
tone. 

But  at  that  moment  Phoebe's  head  appeared  over 
the  stair  rail  in  the  light  shed  from  the  two  state 
rooms. 

"Won't  you  light  up  again,  Mr.  Droop?"  she  said, 
merrily,  smiling  the  while  into  her  sister's  crestfallen 
face.  "I  heard  you  two  leavin'  the  house,  an'  I  just 
guessed  what  you'd  be  up  to.  So  I  followed  you 
down  here." 

She  dropped  into  one  of  the  chairs  beside  the  table 
just  as  Droop  relighted  the  lamps. 

With  one  slender  hand  resting  upon  the  table,  she 
looked  up  into  Droop's  face  and  went  on: 

"I  was  havin'  a  dreadful  time,  stumbling  over 
stocks  an'  stones  at  every  step,  till  suddenly  there  was 
quite  a  light  struck  my  face,  and  first  I  knew  I  was 
lookin'  right  into  your  lighted  windows.  I  guess 
we'll  have  a  pleasant  meetin'  here  of  all  the  folks  in 

33 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

town  pretty  soon — not  to  mention  the  skeeters, 
which  are  comin'  right  early  this  year!" 

"Lands  sakes!"  cried  Rebecca. 

"There  now!"  exclaimed  Copernicus,  bustling 
toward  the  windows,  "I  must  be  a  nateral  born  fool!" 

Phoebe  laughed  in  high  spirits  at  thought  of  her 
prank,  while  Droop  closed  the  tight  iron  shutters  at 
each  window,  thus  confining  every  ray  of  light. 

Rebecca  seated  herself  opposite  Phoebe  and  looked 
severely  straight  before  her  with  her  hands  folded 
in  her  lap.  She  was  ashamed  of  her  curiosity  and 
much  chagrined  at  being  discovered  in  this  uncon 
ventional  situation  by  her  younger  sister. 

Phoebe  gazed  about  her  and,  having  taken  in  the 
general  aspect  of  the  antechamber  in  which  they  were 
assembled,  she  explored  the  two  state-rooms.  Thence 
she  returned  for  a  more  detailed  survey.  Droop  fol 
lowed  her  about  explaining  everything,  but  Rebecca 
remained  unmoved. 

"What's  all  those  dials  on  the  wall,  Mr.  Droop?" 
asked  the  younger  sister. 

"I  wish't  you'd  call  me  Cousin  Copernicus,"  said 
Droop,  appealingly. 

Phoebe  ran  up  very  close  to  a  large  steel  dial-plate 
covered  with  figures. 

"Now  what  the  land  is  this  for?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Thet,"  said  Droop,  slowly,  "is  an  indicator  of 
height  above  ground  and  tells  yer  direction." 

"And  what  d'ye  do  with  this  little  handle?" 

"Why,  you  set  that  for  north  or  west  or  any  other 
34 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PANCHRONICON 

way,  an'  the  hull  machine  keeps  headed  that  way 
until  ye  change  it." 

"Oh,  is  that  the  rudder?" 

"No,  that  is  fer  settin'  jest  one  course  fer  a  long 
ride — like's  ef  we  was  goin'  north  to  the  pole,  ye 
know.  The  rudder's  in  here,  'long  with  the  other 
machinery." 

He  walked  to  one  of  the  two  doors  which  faced  the 
state-rooms. 

Phrebe  followed  him  and  found  herself  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  bewildering  array  of  controlling  and  guid 
ing  handles — gauges — test  cocks — meters  and  indica 
tors.  She  was  quite  overawed,  and  listened  with  a 
new  respect  for  her  distant  relative  as  he  explained 
the  uses  of  the  various  instruments.  It  was  evident 
that  he  had  quite  mastered  the  significance  of  each 
implement. 

When  Droop  had  completed  his  lecture,  Phoebe 
found  that  she  understood  the  uses  of  three  of  the 
levers.  The  rest  was  a  mystery  to  her. 

"This  is  the  starting-lever,"  she  said.  "This  steers, 
and  this  reverses.  Is  that  it?" 

"That's  correct,"  said  Droop,  "an'  if " 

She  cut  him  short  by  whisking  out  of  the  room. 

"What  drives  the  thing?"  she  asked,  as  he  meekly 
followed  her. 

"Oh,  the's  power  storage  an'  all  kinds  o'  works 
down  below  stairs." 

"An'  what's  this  room  for?"  she  asked,  opening  the 
door  next  the  engine-room. 

35 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Thet's  the  kitchen  an'  butler's  pantry,"  said 
Droop.  "It's  mighty  finely  fitted  up,  I  tell  ye.  That 
future-man  was  what  ye  call  a  conusure.  My,  but  he 
could  cook  up  fine  victuals!" 

Rebecca  found  this  temptation  stronger  than  her 
ill  humor,  and  she  rose  with  alacrity  and  followed  her 
companions  into  the  now  brightly  lighted  kitchen. 

Here  the  appointments  were  the  completest  pos 
sible,  and,  after  she  and  Phcebe  had  mastered  the 
theory  of  the  electric  range,  they  agreed  that  they 
had  never  seen  such  a  satisfactory  equipment. 

Phoebe  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  looked 
about  her  with  kindling  eyes.  The  novelty  of  this 
adventure  had  intoxicated  her.  Rebecca's  enthusiasm 
was  repeated  threefold  in  the  more  youthful  bosom 
of  her  sister. 

"My!"  she  cried,  "wouldn't  it  be  lovely  if  we  could 
make  this  our  house  down  here  for  a  while!  What 
would  the  Mellicks  an'  the  Tituses  an' " 

"They'd  take  us  for  a  lunatic  asylum,"  Rebecca 
exclaimed,  severely. 

Phoebe  considered  a  moment  and  then  gravely  re 
plied: 

"Yes,  I  s'pose  they  would." 

Copernicus  was  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  from 
range  to  china-closet  and  back,  rubbing  his  hands 
slowly  over  each  other. 

"I  wish't  you'd  try  to  see  ef  ye  couldn't  change 
yer  mind,  Cousin  Phoebe,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "Jest 
think  of  all  there  is  in  this  extrordnery  vessel— what 

36 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PANCHRONICON 

with  kitchen  an'  little  cunnin'  state-rooms — what 
with  the  hull  machinery  an'  all — it's  a  sinful  waste 
to  leave  it  all  to  rot  away  down  in  this  here  swamp 
when  we  might  all  go  back  to  the  Centennial  an' 
get  rich  as — as  Solomon's  temple!" 

Phoebe  led  the  way  in  silence  to  the  outer  room 
again,  and  Droop  carefully  extinguished  the  lights  in 
the  kitchen  and  engine-room. 

As  the  three  stood  together  under  the  main  chan 
delier  their  faces  were  the  exponents  of  three  differ 
ent  moods. 

Droop  was  wistful — anxious. 

Rebecca  looked  grimly  regretful. 

In  Phoebe's  eyes  there  shone  a  cheerful  light — but 
her  expression  was  enigmatic. 

"Now  let's  go  home,"  she  said,  briskly.  "I've 
got  somethin'  that  I  want  to  talk  to  Rebecca  about. 
Can't  you  call  in  to-morrow  mornin',  Mr.  Droop?" 

"Don't  ye  believe  ye  might  change  yer  mind?"  he 
asked,  mournfully. 

"We'll  be  through  with  the  breakfast  an'  have 
things  set  to  rights  by  eight  o'clock,"  said  Phoebe. 


37 


CHAPTER   in 

A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

PROMPTLY  at  the  appointed  time,  Copernicus  Droop 
might  have  been  seen  approaching  the  white  cottage. 
Still  nursing  a  faint  hope,  he  walked  with  nervous 
rapidity,  mumbling  and  gesticulating  in  his  excite 
ment.  He  attracted  but  little  attention.  His  erratic 
movements  were  credited  to  his  usual  potations,  and 
no  one  whom  he  passed  even  gave  him  a  second 
glance. 

bearing  the  house  he  saw  Phoebe  leaning  out  of 
one  of  the  second-story  windows.  She  had  been  gaz 
ing  westward  toward  Burnham's  swamp,  but  she 
caught  sight  of  Droop  and  nodded  brightly  to  him. 
Then  she  drew  in  her  head  and  pulled  down  the  win 
dow. 

Phoebe  opened  the  door  as  Copernicus  entered  the 
garden  gate,  and  it  was  at  once  apparent  that  her 
buoyant  mood  was  still  upon  her,  for  she  actually 
offered  her  hand  to  her  visitor  as  he  stood  at  the 
threshold  wiping  his  feet. 

"Good  mornin',"  she  said.  "I've  ben  tryin'  to  see 
if  I  could  find  the  Panchronicon  out  of  my  window. 
It's  just  wonderful  how  well  it's  hidden  in  the 
bushes." 

38 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

She  led  him  to  the  parlor  and  offered  him  a  seat. 

"Where's  Cousin  Rebecca?"  he  said,  as  he  care 
fully  placed  his  hat  on  the  floor  beside  his  chair. 

Phcebe  seated  herself  opposite  to  her  visitor  with 
her  back  to  the  windows,  so  that  her  face  was  in 
shadow. 

"Rebecca's  upstairs,"  she  replied. 

Then,  after  a  moment's  pause:  "She's  packin'  up," 
she  said. 

Droop  straightened  up  excitedly. 

"What — packin'!"  he  cried.  "Hev  ye  decided  ye'll 
go,  then?" 

"Well,"  said  Phoabe,  slowly,  "we  have  an' — an' 
we  haven't." 

"What  d'ye  mean?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Droop,  it's  just  like  this,"  she  ex 
claimed,  leaning  forward  confidentially.  "Ye  see, 
Rebecca  an'  I  are  both  just  plumb  crazy  to  try  that 
wonderful  plan  of  cuttin'  meridians  at  the  North 
Pole — an'  we're  wild  fer  a  ride  on  that  queer  kind 
of  a  boat  or  whatever  ye  call  it.  At  the  same  time, 
Rebecca  has  to  acknowledge  that  it's  askin'  too  much 
of  me  to  go  back  to  two  years  old  an'  live  like  a  baby. 
For  one  thing,  I  wouldn't  have  a  thing  to  wear." 

"But  ye  might  make  some  clothes  before  ye  start," 
Droop  suggested. 

"Mr.  Droop!"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  severely,  "what 
do  you  s'pose  folks  would  say  if  Rebecca  and  I  was  to 
set  to  work  makin'  baby  clothes — two  old  maids  like 
us?" 

39 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Droop  looked  down  in  confusion  and  plucked  at 
the  edge  of  his  coat. 

"Phoebe  Wise,  you're  only  just  tryin'  to  be  smart 
fer  argument!" 

This  sentence  was  delivered  with  a  suddenness 
which  was  startling.  Droop  looked  up  with  a  jump 
to  find  Rebecca  standing  at  the  door  with  a  pile  of 
clean  sheets  on  her  arm. 

She  was  gazing  sternly  at  Phoebe,  who  appeared 
somewhat  disconcerted. 

"You  know  's  well  's  I  do,"  continued  the  elder 
sister,  "that  every  one  o'  your  baby  clothes  is  folded 
an'  put  away  as  good  as  new  in  the  attic." 

Phoebe  rallied  quickly  and  repelled  this  attack  with 
spirit. 

"Well,  I  don't  care.  They'll  stay  right  where  they 
are,  Rebecca,"  she  answered,  with  irritation.  "You 
know  we  settled  it  last  night  that  I  wasn't  to  be  pes 
tered  about  goin'  back  to  1876!" 

"That's  true,"  was  the  reply,  "but  don't  you  be 
givin'  such  fool  reasons  for  it.  It's  really  just  because 
you're  afraid  o'  bein'  whipped  an'  put  to  bed — an' 
goodness  knows,  you  deserve  it!" 

With  this,  Rebecca  turned  grimly  and  went  into 
the  garden  to  hang  the  sheets  up  for  an  airing. 

There  was  a  moment's  awkward  pause,  and  then 
Phoebe  broke  the  silence. 

"Our  plan's  this,  Mr.  Droop,"  she  said,  "an'  I  hope 
you'll  agree.  We  want  to  have  you  take  us  to  the 
North  Pole  and  unwind  about  six  years.  That'll 

40 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

take  us  back  before  the  World's  Fair  in  Chicago, 
when  I  was  eighteen  years  old,  an'  we  can  see  fer 
ourselves  how  it  feels  to  be  livin'  backward  an'  grow- 
in'  younger  instead  of  older  every  minute." 

"But  what's  the  good  of  that?"  Droop  asked,  quer 
ulously.  "I  ain't  goin'  to  do  it  jest  fer  fun.  I'm 
growin'  too  old  to  waste  time  that  way.  My  plan 
was  to  make  money  with  all  them  inventions." 

"Well,  an'  why  can't  ye?"  she  replied,  coaxingly. 
"There's  that  X-ray  invention,  now.  Why  couldn't 
you  show  that  at  the  World's  Fair  an'  get  a  patent 
fer  it?" 

"I  don't  understand  that  business,"  he  replied, 
sharply.  "Besides  I  can't  get  one  o'  them  X-ray  ma 
chines — they  cost  a  heap." 

This  was  a  blow  to  Phosbe's  plan  and  she  fell 
silent,  thinking  deeply.  She  had  foreseen  that  Droop 
would  take  only  a  mercenary  view  of  the  matter 
and  had  relied  upon  the  X-ray  to  provide  him  with 
a  motive.  But  if  he  refused  this,  what  was  she 
to  do? 

Suddenly  her  face  lighted  up. 

"I've  got  it!"  she  cried.  "You  know  those  movin' 
picture  boxes  ye  see  down  to  Keene,  where  ye  turn 
a  handle  and  a  lot  of  photograph  cards  fly  along  like 
rufflin'  the  leaves  of  a  book.  Why,  it  just  makes 
things  look  alive,  Mr.  Droop.  I'm  sure  those  weren't 
thought  of  six  years  ago.  They're  span  spinter  new. 
Why  won't  they  do?" 

"I  ain't  got  one  o'  those  either,"  Droop  grumbled. 
41 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"I've  got  a  kodak  an'  a  graphophone  an*  a  lot  o'  Mil- 
liken's  cough  syrup  with  the  recipe " 

"Why  there!"  cried  Phoebe,  exultantly.  "Milli- 
ken's  cough  syrup  is  only  four  years  old,  ain't  it  ?" 

Droop  did  not  reply,  but  his  silence  was  a  virtual 
assent. 

"The's  a  mint  o'  money  in  that — you  know  there 
is,  Mr.  Droop,"  she  urged.  "Why,  I  guess  Mr.  Milli- 
ken  must  have  two  or  three  millions,  hasn't  he?" 

Rebecca  returned  at  this  moment  and  seated  her 
self  on  the  haircloth  settle,  nodding  silently  to  Droop. 

"What's  about  Mr.  Milliken's  money,  Phoebe?" 
she  asked. 

"Why  Mr.  Droop  says  the  X-ray  is  no  good  because 
it  costs  a  heap  and  he  hasn't  got  a  machine  fer  it — an' 
I  was  tellin'  him  that  Milliken's  cough  syrup  was  just 
as  good — for  that  wasn't  invented  six  years  ago, 
an' " 

"Phoebe  Wise,  what  do  you  mean!"  exclaimed  Re 
becca.  "Why,  it  would  be  jest  like  robbery  to  take 
Mr.  Milliken's  syrup,  an'  palm  it  off  as  Mr.  Droop's. 
I'm  surprised  at  ye!" 

This  attack  upon  the  ethical  plane  struck  Phoebe 
speechless.  She  blushed  and  stammered,  but  had  no 
reply  to  make.  The  seeming  defeat  really  concealed 
a  victory,  however,  for  it  instantly  converted  Coper 
nicus  into  an  ally. 

"You  don't  understand  the  thing,  Cousin  Re 
becca,"  he  said,  gently  but  firmly.  "Ye  see  ef  we 
go  six  years  back,  it'll  be  a  time  when  Mr.  Milliken 

42 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

hadn't  ever  thought  of  his  cough  syrup.    How  could 
we  be  robbin'  him  of  somethin'  he  hasn't  got?" 

Rebecca  looked  confused  for  a  moment,  but  was 
not  to  be  so  easily  convinced. 

"  'Tain't  somethin'  he  ain't  thought  of,"  she  said, 
stoutly.  "He's  makin'  money  out  of  it,  an'  ef  we 
get  back  before  him,  why,  when  time  comes  agin  for 
him  to  invent  it  he  won't  have  it  to  invent.  I'm  sure 
that's  jest  as  bad  as  robbin'  him,  ain't  it?" 

Phrebe  looked  anxiously  at  Copernicus  and  was 
much  pleased  to  find  him  apparently  unmoved. 

"Why,  you  certainly  don't  understand  this  yet,"  he 
insisted.  "Milliken  ain't  agoin'  back  six  years  with 
us,  is  he?  He'll  jest  go  right  along  livin'  as  he's  ben 
doin'." 

"What!"  Eebecca  exclaimed.  "Will  he  be  livin' 
in  one  time  an'  we  be  livin'  in  another — both  at  the 
same —  She  stopped.  What  was  she  saying ! 

"No — no !"  replied  Copernicus.  "He'll  go  on  liv 
in'.  That's  what  he  will  do.  We'll  go  on  havin' 
lived.  Or  to  put  it  different — we  have  gone  on  livin' 
after  we  get  back  six  years — to  1892.  Ye  see,  we 
really  have  past  all  the  six  years — so  the's  no  harm 
in  it.  Milliken  won't  be  hurt." 

Rebecca  glanced  at  Phoebe,  in  whose  face  she 
found  her  own  perplexity  reflected.  Then,  throw 
ing  out  her  hands,  as  though  pushing  away  her 
crowding  mental  obstructions,  she  cried: 

"There — there!  I  can't  get  the  hang  of  it.  It's 
too  much  for  me!" 

43 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Oh,  when  you've  done  it  once  it'll  be  all  easy 
and  clear,"  said  Droop,  soothingly. 

Phoebe  looked  hopefully  into  his  face. 

"Will  you  take  us,  Mr.  Droop?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  I  s'pose  I'll  hev  to." 

"An'  only  unwind  six  years?" 

"Yes — jest  six  years." 

She  jumped  up  excitedly. 

"Then  I'll  be  ofl  to  my  packin'!" 

She  ran  to  the  door  and,  pausing  here,  turned  again 
to  their  visitor. 

"Can  we  start  to-night,  Mr.  Droop?" 

"Yes,  indeed!"  he  replied.  "The  sooner  the  bet 
ter." 

"That's  splendid!"  she  cried,  and  ran  quickly  up 
the  stairs. 

The  two  older  people  sat  for  a  while  in  melancholy 
silence,  looking  down.  Each  had  hoped  for  more 
than  this.  Copernicus  tried  to  convince  himself  that 
the  profit  from  the  cough  syrup  would  comfort  him 
for  his  disappointment.  Rebecca  dismissed  with  a 
sigh  the  dreams  which  she  had  allowed  herself  to  enter 
tain — those  bright  fictions  centering  on  Joe  Chandler 
— not  the  subdued  old  bachelor  of  1898,  but  the  jolly 
young  fellow  of  the  famous  Centennial  year. 

At  length  Eebecca  looked  up  and  said: 

"After  all,  Mr.  Droop,  come  to  think  of  it,  you've 
no  call  to  take  us  with  ye.  I  can't  do  ye  any  good 
— goin'  back  only  six  years." 

"Yes  ye  can,"  said  Droop.  "I'll  need  somebody 
44 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

to  help  me  keep  house  in  the  Panchronicon.  I  ain't 
no  hand  at  cookin'  an'  all,  an'  besides,  it'll  be  mighty 
lonely  without  anybody  in  there." 

"Well,"  she  rejoined,  rising,  "I'll  jest  go  up  an* 
finish  my  packin'." 

"An'  I'll  go  tend  to  mine." 

As  they  parted  at  the  front  door,  it  was  arranged 
that  Droop  was  to  bring  a  wheelbarrow  after  supper 
and  transport  the  sisters'  belongings,  preparatory  to 
their  departure. 

The  rest  of  the  day  was  spent  in  preparation  for 
the  momentous  voyage.  Phoebe  went  to  the  little 
bank  at  Peltonville  station  and  withdrew  the  entire 
savings  of  herself  and  sister,  much  to  the  astonish 
ment  and  concern  of  the  cashier.  She  walked  all 
the  way  to  the  bank  and  back  alone,  for  it  was  obvi 
ously  necessary  to  avoid  inconvenient  questions. 

When  the  two  sisters  stood  in  their  little  dining- 
room  with  the  heap  of  greenbacks  on  the  table  be 
fore  them,  Rebecca  was  attacked  by  another  con 
scientious  scruple. 

"I  don't  hardly  know  as  we're  doin'  right,  Phoebe," 
she  said,  shaking  her  head  dubiously.  "When  we 
get  back  to  1892  we'd  ought  to  find  some  money  in 
the  bank  already.  Ef  we  hev  this  with  us,  too,  seems 
to  me  we'll  hev  more'n  we're  entitled  to.  Ain't  it 
a  good  deal  like  cheatin'  the  bank?" 

"Mercy,  no !"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  pettishly.  "You're 
forever  raisin'  some  trouble  like  that!  Ain't  this 
our  money?" 

45 


THE  PANCHRONICON 


"Yes— but- 


"Well,  then,  what's  the  use  o'  talkin'  'bout  it? 
Just  wait  till  we  can  mention  your  trouble  to  Mr. 
Droop.  He'll  have  a  good  answer  for  you." 

"But  s'posin'  he  can't  answer  it?"  Kebecca  in 
sisted. 

"Well,  if  he  can't  we  can  give  back  the  difference 
to  the  bank." 

So  saying,  Phoebe  took  her  share  of  the  bills  and 
quickly  left  the  room. 

"I've  got  lots  of  things  to  do  before  night,"  she 
remarked. 

At  promptly  half-past  nine  all  the  lights  in  the 
house  were  extinguished,  and  the  two  sisters  sat  to 
gether  in  the  dark  parlor  awaiting  Copernicus.  It 
was  Rebecca  who  had  insisted  on  putting  out  the 
lights. 

"Ef  folks  was  to  see  lights  here  so  late  in  the 
night,"  she  said,  "they'd  suspicion  somethin'  an'  they 
might  even  call  in." 

Phoebe  admitted  the  justness  of  this  reasoning,  and 
they  had  both  directed  every  endeavor  to  complet 
ing  all  their  arrangements  before  their  accustomed 
bed-time. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  a  stealthy  step  was 
heard  on  the  gravel  path  and  Phoebe  hurried  to  the 
door.  Copernicus  came  in  with  a  low  word  of  greet 
ing  and  followed  the  ghostly  shadow  of  his  hostess 
into  the  parlor. 

The  three  stood  together  in  the  dark  and  con- 
46 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

versed  in  an  undertone^  like  so  many  conspirators 
surrounded  by  spies. 

"Hev  ye  got  everythin'  ready?"  Droop  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Phoebe.  "The's  only  two  little  trunks 
for  you.  Did  you  bring  the  wheelbarrow?" 

"Yep — I  left  it  outside  the  gate.  'Twould  hev 
made  a  lot  of  noise  on  the  gravel  inside." 

"That's  right,"  said  Phoebe.  "I  guess  you'll  not 
have  any  trouble  to  carry  both  o'  those  trunks  at 
once.  We  haven't  packed  only  a  few  things,  'cause 
I  expect  we'll  find  all  our  old  duds  ready  for  us  in 
1892,  won't  we?" 

"Why,  'f  course,"  said  Droop. 

"But  how  'bout  linen — sheets  an'  table-cloths  an' 
all?"  said  Rebecca.  "We'll  need  some  o'  them  on 
the  trip,  won't  we?" 

"I've  got  a  hull  slew  o'  them  things  in  the  Pan- 
chronicon,"  said  Copernicus.  "Ye  won't  hev  to 
bother  a  bit  about  sech  things." 

"How  long  do  you  s'pose  it'll  take  to  make  the 
trip,"  asked  Phoebe.  "I  mean  by  the  clock?  We 
won't  have  to  do  any  washing  on  the  way,  will  we?" 

"I  don't  see  how  we  can,"  Rebecca  broke  in. 
"  The's  not  a  blessed  tub  on  the  hull  machine." 

"No,  no,"  said  Droop,  reassuringly.  "We'll  make 
a  bee-line  for  the  pole,  an'  we'll  go  'bout  three  times 
as  fast  as  a  lightnin'  express  train.  We'd  ought  to 
reach  there  in  about  twenty-four  hours,  I  guess. 
Then  we'll  take  it  easy  cuttin'  meridians,  so's  not 

to  suffer  from  side  weight,  an' " 

47 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

''Side  weight!"  exclaimed  the  two  women  to 
gether. 

"Yes,"  said  Droop.  "That's  a  complaint  ye  get 
ef  ye  unwind  the  time  too  fast.  Ye  see,  growin' 
young  isn't  a  thing  folks  is  used  to,  an'  it  disgrum- 
mages  the  hull  constitution  ef  ye  grow  young  too 
fast.  Well,  's  I  was  a-sayin',  I  guess  it'll  take  'bout 
eighteen  hours  by  the  clock  to  cut  back  six  years. 
Thet's  by  the  clock,  ye  understand.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  of  course,  we'll  be  just  six  years  less'n  no 
time  in  finishin'  the  trip." 

"Well,"  said  Phoebe,  briskly,  "that's  no  kind  o' 
reason  fer  dawdlin'  about  it  now.  Let's  be  startin'." 

"Where's  the  trunks?"  said  Droop. 

The  trunks  were  pointed  out,  and  with  very  little 
trouble  Copernicus  put  them  onto  the  barrow.  He 
then  came  to  the  door  for  his  last  instructions. 

"  'S  any  thin'  more  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Kebecca.  "We'll  bring  on  our  special 
duds  in  our  arms.  We'll  wait  a  spell  an'  come  on 
separate." 

The  door  was  carefully  closed  and  they  soon  heard 
the  slight  creak  of  the  weighted  wheel  as  Droop  set 
off  with  the  trunks  for  Burnham's  swamp. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Phosbe,  bustling  into  the  par 
lor,  "let's  get  our  things  all  together  ready  to  start. 
Have  ye  got  your  satchel  with  the  money  in  it?" 

Rebecca  gently  slapped  a  black  leather  bag  hang 
ing  at  her  side. 

"Here  'tis,"  she  said. 

48 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

"Let's  see,"  Phoebe  went  on.  "Here's  my  box  with 
the  letters  an'  miniature,  here's  the  box  with  the 
jewelry,  an'  here's  that  book  Mrs.  Bolton  gave  me 
about  Bacon  writin'  Shakespeare." 

"Whatever  air  ye  takin'  that  old  book  fer, 
Phoebe?" 

"Why,  to  read  on  the  train — I  mean  on  the  way, 
ye  know.  We'll  likely  find  it  pretty  pokey  in  that 
one  room  all  day." 

"I  don't  know  what  ye  mean  by  'all  day,'  "  Re 
becca  exclaimed  in  a  discouraged  tone.  "So  far's  I 
see,  th'ain't  goin'  to  be  any  days.  What'll  it  feel 
like — livin'  backward  that  way?  D'ye  guess  it'll 
make  us  feel  sick,  like  ridin'  backward  in  the  cars?" 

"Don't  ask  me,"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  despairingly. 
"  'F  I  knew  what  'twas  like,  perhaps  I  wouldn't  feel 
so  like  goin'." 

She  straightened  herself  suddenly  and  stood  rigid. 

"Hark!"  she  exclaimed.  "Is  that  Mr.  Droop  corn- 
in'  back,  d'you  s'pose?" 

There  were  distinctly  audible  footsteps  on  the 
path. 

Phoebe  came  out  into  the  hall  on  tiptoe  and  stood 
beside  her  sister. 

There  was  a  knock  on  the  door.  The  two  sisters 
gripped  each  other's  arms  excitedly. 

"'Taint  Copernicus!"  Eebecca  whispered  very 
low. 

The  knock  was  repeated;  rather  louder  this  time. 
Then— 

49 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Miss  Wise — Miss  Wise — are  ye  to  home?" 

It  was  a  woman's  voice. 

"Sarah  Allen!"  Phoebe  exclaimed  under  her 
breath. 

"Whatever  shall  we  do?"  Rebecca  replied. 

"Miss  Wise,"  the  voice  repeated,  and  then  their 
visitor  knocked  again,  much  more  loudly. 

"I'll  go  to  the  door,"  exclaimed  Phoebe. 

"But " 

"I  must.    She'll  raise  the  whole  town  if  I  don't." 

So  saying,  Phoebe  walked  noisily  to  the  door  and 
unlocked  it. 

"Is  that  you,  Mis'  Allen?"  she  asked. 

The  door  was  opened,  and  Phoebe  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  a  short,  light  woman  whose  white 
garments  shone  gray  in  the  night. 

"Why,  you're  up'n  dressed!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Al 
len.  She  did  not  offer  to  enter,  but  went  on  excit 
edly: 

"Miss  Phoebe,"  she  said,  "d'you  know  I  b'lieve 
you've  ben  robbed." 

"What!" 

"Yes;  on'y  a  minute  ago  I  was  a-comin'  up  the 
road  from  M'ria  Payson's — you  know  she's  right 
sick  an'  I've  ben  givin'  her  massidge — an'  what  sh'd 
I  see  but  a  man  comin'  out  o'  your  gate  with  suthin' 
on  his  shoulder.  I  couldn't  see  who  'twas,  an'  he  was 
so  quiet  an'  sneaky  without  a  light  that  I  jest  slipped 
behind  a  tree.  You  know  I've  ben  dreadful  skeery 
ever  sence  Tom  was  brought  home  with  his  arm 

50 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

broke  after  a  fight  with  a  strange  man  in  the  dark. 
Well,  this  man  to-night  he  put  the  bundle  or  what 
not  into  a  wheelbarrow  an'  set  off  quiet  as  a  mouse. 
He  went  off  down  that  way,  an'  says  I  to  myself, 
'It's  a  robber  ben  burglin'  at  the  Wise's  house/  says 
I,  an'  I  come  straight  here  to  see  ef  ye  was  both 
murdered  or  what.  Air  ye  all  right?  Hez  he  broken 
yer  door?  Hev  ye  missed  anythin'?" 

As  the  little  woman  paused  for  breath,  Phoebe 
seized  her  opportunity. 

"Did  you  say  he  went  off  to  the  north,  Mis'  Allen?" 
she  said,  with  feigned  excitement. 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  dear — oh,  dear !"  cried  Phoebe,  wringing  her 
hands.  "Didn't  I  say  I  heard  a  noise — I  told  you  I 
heard  a  burglar,  Rebecca,"  she  went  on,  hysterically, 
turning  to  her  sister. 

"Is  Miss  Rebecca  there?"  asked  Mrs.  Allen. 

Rebecca  came  forward  in  silence.  She  was  quite 
nonplussed.  To  tell  the  truth,  Phoebe's  sudden  out 
burst  was  as  great  a  tax  upon  her  nerves  as  Mrs. 
Allen's  unwelcome  visit.  Surely  Phoebe  had  said 
nothing  about  a  burglar!  It  was  Droop  that  Mrs. 
Allen  had  seen — of  course  it  was.  She  dared  not 
say  so  in  their  visitor's  presence,  but  she  wondered 
mightily  at  Phoebe's  apparent  perturbation. 

Phoebe  guessed  her  sister's  mental  confusion,  and 
she  sought  to  draw  Mrs.  Allen's  attention  to  herself 
to  avoid  the  betrayal  of  their  plans  which  would  cer 
tainly  follow  Rebecca's  joining  the  conversation. 

51 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Mis'  Allen,"  she  exclaimed,  excitedly,  "the's  just 
one  thing  to  be  done.  Won't  you  run  's  quick  's  ever 
you  can  to  Si  Pray,  an'  ask  him  to  bring  his  gun? 
You  won't  meet  the  burglar  'cause  he's  gone  the 
other  way.  Rebecca  'nd  I'll  jest  wait  here  for  you 
an'  Si.  I'll  get  some  hot  water  from  the  kitchen, 
in  case  the  burglar  should  come  back  while  you're 
gone.  Oh,  please  will  you  do  it?" 

"Course  I  will,"  was  the  nervous  reply.  This  hint 
of  the  possible  return  of  the  robbers  made  an  imme 
diate  retreat  seem  very  desirable.  "I'll  go  right  now. 
Won't  be  gone  a  minute.  Lock  your  door  now — 
quick!" 

She  turned  and  sped  down  the  path.  She  had  not 
reached  the  gate  before  Phoebe  walked  rapidly  into 
the  parlor. 

"Quick — quick!"  she  panted,  frantically  gathering 
up  her  belongings.  "Get  your  duds  an'  come  along." 

"But  what  d'you " 

"Come — come — come!"  cried  Phoebe.  "Come 
quick  or  they'll  all  be  here.  Gun  and  all!" 

With  her  arm  full  of  bundles,  Phoebe  rushed  back 
through  the  hall  and  out  of  the  front  door.  Eebecca 
followed  her,  drawn  along  by  the  fiery  momentum 
of  her  sister. 

"Lock  the  front  door,  Rebecca,"  Phoebe  cried. 
Then,  as  she  reached  the  gate  and  found  it  fastened: 
"Here,  I  can't  undo  the  gate.  My  hands  are  full. 
Oh,  do  hurry,  Rebecca!  We  haven't  a  minute!" 

The  elder  sister  locked  the  front  door  and  started 
52 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

down  the  path  in  such  a  nervous  fever  that  she  left 
the  key  in  the  lock.    Half  way  to  the  gate  she  paused. 

"Come  on — come  on!"  Phoebe  cried,  stamping  her 
foot. 

"My  land!"  stammered  Rebecca.  "I've  forgot 
everythin' !"  She  started  back,  running  with  short, 
unaccustomed  steps. 

"My  umbrella!"  she  gasped.  "My  recipes — my 
slips!" 

Phoebe  was  speechless  with  anger  and  apprehen 
sion  at  this  delay,  and  Rebecca  was  therefore  allowed 
to  re-enter  the  house  without  objection. 

In  a  short  time  she  reappeared  carrying  an  um 
brella,  two  flower-pots,  and  a  folded  newspaper. 

"There!"  she  panted,  as  she  came  up  to  her  sister 
and  opened  the  gate.  "Now  I  guess  I've  got  every 
thing" 

Silently  and  swiftly  the  two  women  sped  north 
ward,  following  the  imaginary  burglar,  while  the  de 
voted  Mrs.  Allen  ran  breathless  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion  for  Si  Pray  and  his  gun. 

"We'll  hev  to  go  more  careful  here,"  said  Re 
becca  as  they  turned  into  the  lane  leading  down  to 
the  swamp. 

With  many  a  stumble  and  some  scratches  they 
moved  more  slowly  down  the  rutted  track  until  at 
length  they  reached  the  point  where  they  were  to 
turn  into  the  swamp. 

Here  the  sisters  leaned  against  the  wall  to  rest 
and  recover  breath. 

53 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"My  goodness,  but  that  was  a  narrow  escape!" 
murmured  Phoebe. 

"Yes,"  said  Rebecca,  with  reproachful  sadness; 
"but  I'm  afraid  you  paid  a  heavy  price  fer  it, 
Phoebe!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  's  fur  's  I  could  make  out,  you  told  Mis'  Al 
len  a  deliberate  wrong  story,  Phoebe  Wise." 

"What  did  I  say?"  said  Phcebe,  in  shocked  surprise. 

"You  said  you  hed  told  me  you'd  heerd  a  bur 
glar!" 

"Did  I  say  that?    Those  very  words?" 

"Why,  you  know  you  did." 

"Wasn't  it  a  question,  Rebecca?"  Phoebe  insisted. 
"Didn't  I  ask  you  ef  I  hadn't  told  you  I  heard  a 
burglar?" 

"No,  it  was  a  plain  downright  wrong  story,  Phoebe, 
an'  you  needn't  to  try  to  sneak  out  of  it." 

Phoebe  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
Rebecca  heard  her  laugh.  It  was  a  very  little,  rip 
pling  thing — but  it  was  genuine — there  was  real 
light-heartedness  behind  it. 

"Phoebe  Wise!"  exclaimed  Rebecca,  "how  ken  you 
laugh  so  ?  I  wouldn't  hev  the  weight  of  sech  a  thing 
on  my  mind  fer  a  good  deal." 

"Well,  Rebecca,"  tittered  her  sister,  "I  didn't  have 
it  on  my  mind  yesterday,  did  I?" 

"Course  not — but " 

"An'  won't  it  be  yesterday  for  us  mighty  soon — 
yes,  an'  a  heap  longer  ago  than  that?" 

54 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

She  laughed  again  merrily  and  began  to  climb 
over  the  wall,  a  proceeding  not  rendered  easier  by 
the  various  articles  in  her  hands. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  two  women  had  joined 
Copernicus  within  his  mysterious  machine  and  were 
standing  in  the  brightly  lighted  antechamber  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs. 

"Well — well!"  cried  Droop,  as  he  caught  sight  of 
the  two  women  for  the  first  time  in  the  light. 
"Where  ever  did  ye  get  them  funny  dresses?  Why, 
your  sleeves  is  all  puffed  out  near  the  shoulders!" 

"These  are  some  of  our  old  dresses,"  said  Rebecca. 
"They  was  made  in  1891,  an'  we  thought  they'd 
prob'bly  be  more  in  the  fashion  back  in  1892  when 
we  get  there  than  our  newer  dresses." 

"Never  mind  our  dresses,  Mr.  Droop,"  said  Phoebe. 
"Where  can  we  put  down  all  these  things?  My  arms 
are  breakin'  off." 

"Eight  here,  Cousin  Phoebe." 

Droop  bustled  over  to  the  state-rooms,  opening 
both  the  doors  at  once. 

"Here's  a  room  apiece  fer  ye.    Take  yer  choice." 

"Oh,  but  where'll  you  sleep?"  said  Phoebe. 
"P'raps  Rebecca  and  I'd  better  have  one  room  to 
gether." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Droop.  "I'll  sleep  on  one 
o'  them  settles  under  the  windows.  They're  real 
comfortable." 

"Well — just  as  you  say." 

The  sisters  entered  their  rooms  and  deposited  their 
55 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

bundles,  but  Phoebe  returned  at  once  and  called  to 
Droop,  who  had  started  down  the  stairs. 

"Mr.  Droop,  you've  got  to  start  right  straight  off. 
Mrs.  Allen  knows  't  you've  carried  off  the  trunk  and 
she's  comin'  after  us  with  Si  Pray  an'  a  gun." 

Just  then  they  heard  the  loud  barking  of  a  dog. 
He  was  apparently  running  rapidly  down  the  lane. 

"Sakes  alive!"  cried  Phcebe,  in  alarm.  "Slam  to 
that  door,  Copernicus  Droop!  Si  has  let  his  dog 
loose  an'  he's  on  your  tracks!" 

The  baying  was  repeated — now  much  nearer. 
Droop  clattered  frantically  down  the  stairs,  and  shut 
the  door  with  a  bang.  At  the  next  moment  a  heavy 
body  leaped  against  it,  and  a  man's  voice  was  heard 
close  at  hand. 

"Sic  um,  Touser,  sic  um!    Where  is  he,  boy?" 

Up  the  stairs  went  Copernicus  two  steps  at  a  time. 
He  dashed  into  the  anteroom,  pale  and  breathless. 

"Lie  down  on  the  floor!"  he  shouted.  "Lie  down 
or  ye'll  get  throwed  down.  I'm  agoin'  to  start  her!" 

By  this  time  he  had  opened  the  engine-room  door. 

The  two  women  promptly  lay  flat  on  their  backs 
on  the  carpet. 

Droop  braced  himself  firmly  and  had  just  grasped 
the  starting  lever  when  a  cry  from  Rebecca  arrested 
him. 

"Copernicus  Droop — hold  on!"  she  cried. 

He  turned  to  her,  his  face  full  of  anxious  fear. 
Rebecca  lay  on  her  back  with  her  hands  at  her  sides, 
but  her  head  was  raised  stiffly  from  the  floor. 

56 


A  NOCTURNAL  EVASION 

"Copernicus  Droop,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "hev  ye 
brought  any  rum  aboard  with  ye  ?  'Cause  if  ye  have 
I  won't " 

She  never  concluded,  for  at  this  moment  her  head 
was  jerked  back  sharply  against  the  floor  by  a  tre 
mendous  upward  leap  of  the  machine. 

There  was  a  hissing  roar  as  of  a  thousand  rockets, 
and  even  as  Rebecca  was  wondering,  half  stunned, 
why  she  saw  so  many  jumping  lights,  Si  Pray  gazed 
open-mouthed  at  the  ascension  of  a  mysterious  dark 
body  apparently  aimed  at  the  sky. 

The  Panchronicon  had  started. 


57 


CHAPTEK   IV 

A   CHANGE   OF   PLAN 

IT  was  long  after  their  bed-time  and  the  two  sis 
ters  were  utterly  exhausted;  but  as  the  mysterious 
structure  within  which  they  lay  glided  northward 
between  heaven  and  earth  with  the  speed  of  a 
meteor,  Rebecca  and  Phoebe  long  courted  sleep  in 
vain. 

The  excitement  of  their  past  adventures,  the  un 
real  wonder  of  their  present  situation,  the  bewilder 
ing  possibilities  and  impossibilities  of  their  future 
plans — all  these  conspired  to  banish  sleep  until  long 
past  midnight.  It  was  not  until,  speeding  due  north 
with  the  unswerving  obedience  of  a  magnet,  their 
vessel  was  sailing  far  above  the  waters  of  the  upper 
Saguenay,  that  they  at  length  sank  to  rest. 

They  were  awakened  next  morning  by  a  knocking 
upon  Rebecca's  door. 

"It's  pretty  nigh  eight-thirty,"  Droop  cried.  "I've 
got  the  kettle  on  the  range,  but  I  don't  know  what 
to  do  nex'." 

"What!  Why!  Who!  Where!  Sakes!  what's 
this*" 

Rebecca  sat  up  in  bed,  unable  to  place  herself. 
58 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

"It's  pretty  nigh  half-past  eight,"  Copernicus  re 
peated.  "Long  after  breakfast-time.  I'm  hungry!" 

By  this  time  Phoebe  was  wide  awake. 

"All  right !"  she  cried.    "We'll  come  in  a  minute." 

Then  Rebecca  knew  where  she  was — or  rather 
realized  that  she  did  not  know.  But  fortunately  a 
duty  was  awaiting  her  in  the  kitchen  and  this  stead 
ied  a  mind  which  seemed  to  her  to  need  some  sup 
port  in  the  midst  of  these  unwonted  happenings. 

Phoebe  was  the  first  to  leave  her  bedroom.  She 
had  dressed  with  frantic  speed.  In  her  haste  to  get 
to  the  windows  and  see  the  world  from  the  sky,  she 
had  secured  her  hair  very  imperfectly,  and  Droop 
was  favored  with  a  charming  display  of  bright  locks, 
picturesquely  disarranged. 

"Good-mornin',  Cousin  Phoebe,"  he  said,  with  his 
suavest  manner. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Droop,"  Phoebe  replied. 
"Where  are  we?  Is  everything  all  right?" 

She  made  straight  for  one  of  the  windows  the 
iron  shutters  of  which  were  now  open. 

"I  wish't  you'd  call  me  Cousin  Copernicus,"  Droop 
remarked. 

"Oh— oh!     What  a  beautiful  world!" 

Phoebe  leaned  her  face  close  to  the  glass  and  gazed 
spell-bound  at  the  wonderful  landscape  spread  be 
fore  her. 

The  whole  atmosphere  seemed  filled  with  a  clear, 
cold  sunlight  whose  brilliance  irradiated  the  giant 
sphere  of  earth  so  far  away. 

59 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Directly  below  and  to  the  right  of  their  course, 
as  far  as  she  could  see,  there  was  one  vast  expanse 
of  dark  blue  sea,  gilded  dazzlingly  over  one  portion 
where  the  sun's  beams  were  reflected.  Far  ahead  to 
the  north  and  as  far  behind  them  the  sea  was  bor 
dered  with  the  fantastic  curves  of  a  faint  blue  coast 
dotted  and  lined  with  the  shadows  of  many  a  hill 
and  mountain.  It  was  a  map  on  which  she  was  gazing. 
Nature's  own  map — the  only  perfect  chart  in  the 
world. 

So  new — so  intensely,  almost  painfully,  beautiful 
was  this  scene  that  Phoebe  stood  transfixed — fasci 
nated.  She  did  not  even  think  of  speaking. 

The  scene  was  not  so  new  to  Droop — and  besides 
he  was  a  prey  to  an  insistent  appetite.  His  mental 
energies,  therefore,  sought  expression  in  speech. 

Approaching  Phoebe's  side,  he  said: 

"Mighty  pretty,  ain't  it?" 

She  did  not  reply,  so  he  continued: 

"That  water  right  under  us  is  Hudson  Strait. 
The  ocean  to  the  right  is  the  Atlantic.  Ye  can  see 
Hudson's  Bay  off  to  the  left  out  o'  one  o'  them  win^ 
dows.  I've  ben  lookin'  it  up  on  the  map." 

He  strolled  toward  the  table,  as  if  inviting  Phoebe 
to  see  his  chart  which  lay  there  unrolled.  She  did 
not  follow  him. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  "that's  Hudson  Strait,  and 
we're  four  miles  high,  an'  that's  all  I'll  tell  ye  till  I 
have  my  breakfast." 

He  gazed  wistfully  at  Phoebe,  who  did  not  move 
60 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

or  speak,  but  let  her  eyes  wander  in  awed  delight 
over  the  wonders  thus  brought  before  them. 

Just  then  Rebecca  emerged  from  her  room. 

"Good-mornin',"  she  said.     "I  guess  I'm  late." 

"Good-mornin',  Cousin  Rebecca;  I  guess  ye  are  a 
mite  late.  Cousin  Phoebe  won't  move — so  I'm  sayin' 
we're  four  miles  high  an'  right  over  Hudson  Strait, 
an'  that's  all  I'll  tell  ye  till  I  get  my  breakfast." 

"Goodness  me!"  exclaimed  Rebecca.  "Ain't  that 
mos'  too  high,  Mr.  Droop?"  She  hurried  to  the  win 
dow  and  looked  out. 

"Sakes  alive!"  she  gasped. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  awed  in  her  turn  by 
the  immensity  of  the  prospect. 

"Why — but — it's  all  water  underneath!"  she  ex 
claimed  at  last.  "Ef  we  was  to  fall  now,  we'd  be 
drowned!" 

"Now  don't  you  be  a  mite  skeert,"  said  Droop, 
with  reassuring  politeness.  "We've  ben  scootin' 
along  like  this  all  night  an' — an'  the  fact  is,  I've  got 
the  kettle  on — p'raps  it's  b'iled  over." 

Rebecca  turned  from  the  window  at  once  and 
made  for  the  kitchen. 

"Phoebe,"  she  said,  briskly,  "you  set  the  table  now 
an'  I'll  hev  breakfast  ready  in  a  twinklin'." 

Reluctantly  Phoebe  left  the  window  and  Droop 
soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  sauntering  back  and 
forth  between  kitchen  and  dining-table  in  pleased 
supervision  of  the  progress  of  both. 

In  due  time  a  simple  but  substantial  breakfast 
61 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

was  in  readiness,  and  the  three  travellers  were  seated 
around  the  table  partaking  of  the  meal  each  in  his 
own  way. 

Droop  was  business-like,  almost  enthusiastic,  in  his 
voracious  hunger.  Rebecca  ate  moderately  and 
without  haste,  precisely  as  though  seated  in  the  little 
Peltonville  cottage.  Phoebe  ate  but  little.  She  was 
overcome  by  the  wonders  she  had  seen,  realizing  for 
the  first  time  the  marvellous  situation  in  which  she 
found  herself. 

It  was  not  until  the  table  was  cleared  and  the  two 
women  were  busy  with  the  dishes  that  conversation 
was  resumed.  Droop  sat  with  his  chair  tilted  back 
ward  against  the  kitchen  wall  enjoying  a  quiet  satis 
faction  with  his  lot  and  a  kindly  mental  attitude 
toward  all  men. 

He  glanced  through  the  kitchen  door  at  the  barom 
eter  on  the  wall  in  the  outer  room. 

"We've  climbed  near  a  mile  since  before  break 
fast,"  he  remarked. 

Rebecca  paused  before  hanging  up  the  soap-shaker. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Droop,"  she  said,  anxiously,  "we 
are  mos'  too  high  a'ready,  I  think.  S'posin'  we  was 
to  fall  down.  Where  do  you  s'pose  we'd  be?" 

"Why,  Rebecca,"  said  Phrebe,  laughing,  "do  you 
suppose  five  miles  is  any  worse  than  four?  I  guess 
we'd  be  killed  by  falling  one  mile  jest  as  quick  as 
five." 

"Quicker!"  Droop  exclaimed.  "Considerable 
quicker,  Cousin  Rebecca,  fer  it  would  take  us  a 

62 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

good  deal  longer  to  fall  five  miles  than  it  would 
one." 

"But  what  ever's  the  use  o'  keepin'  on  a-climbin'  ?" 

"Why,  that's  the  nature  of  this  machine,"  he  re 
plied.  "Ye  see,  it  runs  on  the  rocket  principle  by 
spurtin'  out  gases.  Ef  we  want  to  go  up  off  the 
ground  we  squirt  out  under  the  machine  an'  that 
gives  us  a  h'ist.  Then,  when  we  get  'way  up  high, 
we  spread  out  a  pair  o'  big  wings  like  and  start  the 
propeller  at  the  stern  end  o'  the  thing.  Now  them 
wings  on'y  holds  us  up  by  bein'  inclined  a  mite  in 
front,  and  consequence  is  we're  mighty  apt  to  climb 
a  little  right  'long." 

"Well,  but  won't  we  get  too  high?"  suggested 
Phoebe.  "Ain't  the  air  too  thin  up  very  high?" 

"Of  course,  we  mustn't  go  too  high,"  Droop  con 
ceded,  "an'  I  was  just  a-thinkin'  it  wouldn't  go  amiss 
to  let  down  a  spell." 

He  rose  and  started  for  the  engine-room. 

"How  do  you  let  down?"  Phoebe  asked,  pausing 
in  her  work. 

"Why,  I  jest  turn  the  wings  horizontal,  ye  know, 
an'  then  we  sink  very  slow  till  I  incline  'em  up 
again." 

He  disappeared.  Phoebe  gave  the  last  of  the  dishes 
a  brief  touch  of  the  dish-towel  and  then  ran  into  the 
main  room  to  watch  the  barometer. 

She  was  much  interested  to  observe  a  gradual  but 
continual  decrease  in  their  altitude.  She  walked  to 
the  window  but  could  see  no  apparent  change,  save 

63 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

that  they  had  now  passed  the  sea  and  only  the  blue 
land  with  silver  streaks  of  river  and  indigo  hill  shad 
ows  was  beneath  them. 

"How  fast  do  you  s'pose  we're  flyin',  Mr.  Droop?" 
she  asked. 

"There's  the  speed  indicator,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
one  of  the  dials  on  the  wall.  "Ye  see  it  says  we're 
a-hummin'  along  at  about  one  hundred  an'  thirty 
miles  an  hour." 

"My  gracious!"  cried  Phrebe.  "What  if  we  was 
to  hit  something!" 

"Nothin'  to  hit,"  said  Droop,  with  a  smile.  "Ye 
see,  the's  no  sort  o'  use  goin'  any  slower,  an'  besides, 
this  quick  travellin'  keeps  us  warm." 

"Why,  how's  that?" 

"The  sides  o'  the  machine  rubbin'  on  the  air,"  said 
Droop. 

"That's  so,"  Phrebe  replied.  "That's  what  heats 
up  meteors  so  awful  hot,  ain't  it?" 

Rebecca  came  out  of  the  kitchen  at  this  moment. 

"I  must  say  ye  wasn't  particler  about  gettin'  all 
the  pans  to  rights  'fore  ye  left  the  kitchen,  Phrebe. 
Ben  makin'  the  beds?" 

"Land,  no,  Rebecca!"  said  Phosbe,  blushing  guilt- 

ay. 

"Well,  there!" 

Rebecca  said  no  more,  but  her  set  lips  and  puck 
ered  forehead  spoke  much  of  displeasure  as  she 
stalked  across  to  the  state-rooms. 

"Well,  I  declare  to  goodness!"  she  cried,  as  she 
64 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

opened  her  door.    "Ye  hevn't  even  opened  the  win 
dow  to  air  the  rooms!" 

Phoebe  looked  quite  miserable  at  thought  of  her 
remissness,  but  Copernicus  came  bravely  to  the 
rescue. 

"The  windows  can't  be  opened,  Cousin  Rebecca," 
he  said.  "Ef  ye  was  to  open  one,  'twould  blow  yer 
head's  bald  as  an  egg  in  a  minute." 

"What!" 

"Yes,"  said  Phoebe,  briskly,  "I  couldn't  air  the 
beds  an'  make  'em  because  we're  going  one  hundred 
and  thirty  odd  miles  an  hour,  Rebecca." 

"D'you  mean  to  tell  me,  Copernicus  Droop,"  cried 
the  outraged  spinster,  "that  I've  got  to  go  'thout 
airin'  my  bed?" 

"No,  no,"  Copernicus  said,  soothingly.  "The's 
special  arrangements  to  keep  ventilation  goin'.  Jest 
leave  the  bed  open  half  the  day  an'  it'll  be  all 
aired." 

Rebecca  looked  far  from  pleased  at  this. 

"I  declare,  ef  I'd  known  of  all  these  doin's,"  she 
muttered. 

Unable  to  remain  idle,  she  set  to  work  "putting 
things  to  rights,"  as  she  called  it,  while  Phoebe  took 
her  book  to  the  west  window  and  was  soon  lost  in 
certain  modern  theories  concerning  the  Baconian 
authorship  of  Shakespeare's  works. 

"Is  these  duds  yourn,  Mr.  Droop?"  asked  Rebecca, 
sharply,  pointing  to  a  motley  collection  of  goods  piled 
in  one  corner  of  the  main  room. 

65 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Yes,"  Droop  replied,  coming  quickly  to  her  side. 
"Them's  some  of  the  inventions  I'm  carryin'  along." 

He  stooped  and  gathered  up  a  number  of  boxes 
and  bundles  in  his  arms.  Then  he  stood  up  and 
looked  about  him  as  though  seeking  a  safe  place  for 
their  deposit. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Rebecca.  "Ye  can  put  'em 
right  back,  Mr.  Droop.  I  jest  wanted  to  see  whether 
the'  was  much  dust  back  in  there." 

Droop  replaced  his  goods  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
One  box  he  retained,  however,  and,  placing  it  upon 
the  table,  proceeded  to  unpack  it. 

Rebecca  now  turned  her  attention  to  her  own  be 
longings.  Lifting  one  of  her  precious  flower-pots 
carefully,  she  looked  all  about  for  a  more  suitable 
location  for  her  plants. 

"Phcebe,"  she  exclaimed  at  length,  "where  ever 
can  I  set  my  slips?  They  ought  to  be  in  the  sun 
there  by  the  east  window,  but  it'll  dirt  up  the  cov- 
erin'  of  the  settle." 

Phoebe  looked  up  from  her  book. 

"Why  don't  ye  spread  out  that  newspaper  you 
brought  with  you?"  she  said. 

Rebecca  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "I  couldn't  do  thet.  The's  a 
lot  o'  fine  receipes  in  there — I  never  could  make  my 
sweet  pickle  as  good  as  thet  recipe  in  the  New  York 
paper  thet  Molly  sent  me." 

Phoebe  laid  down  her  book  and  walked  over  to  her 
sister's  side. 

66 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

"Oh,  the'  must  be  some  part  of  it  you  can  use, 
Rebecca,"  she  said.  "Land  sakes!"  she  continued, 
laughing.  "Why,  it's  the  whole  of  the  New  York 
World  for  a  Sunday — pictures  an'  all!  Here — take 
this  advertisin'  piece  an'  spread  it  out — so." 

She  tore  off  a  portion  of  the  voluminous  paper 
and  carefully  spread  it  out  on  one  of  the  eastern 
settles. 

"Whatever  did  you  bring  those  slips  with  you  for?" 
she  asked. 

Rebecca  deposited  the  flower-pots  carefully  in  the 
sun  and  slapped  her  hands  across  each  other  to  re 
move  the  dust  on  them. 

"One  o'  them  is  off  my  best  honeysuckle  thet  come 
from  a  slip  thet  Sam  Mellick  brought  from  Japan 
in  1894.  This  geranium  come  off  a  plant  thet  was 
given  me  by  Arabella  Slade,  'fore  she  died  in  1896, 
an'  she  cut  it  off'n  a  geranium  thet  come  from  a  lot 
thet  Joe  Chandler's  father  raised  from  slips  cut  off 
of  some  plants  down  to  Boston  in  the  ground  that 
used  to  belong  to  our  great-grandfather  Wilkins  'fore 
the  Revolution." 

This  train  of  reasoning  seemed  satisfactory,  and 
Phoebe  turned  to  resume  her  book. 

Copernicus  intercepted  her  as  she  passed  the  table. 

"What  d'ye  think  o'  this  little  phonograph,  Cousin 
Phoebe?"  he  said. 

One  of  Droop's  boxes  stood  open  and  beside  it 
Phoebe  saw  a  phonograph  with  the  usual  spring  mo 
tor  and  brass  megaphone. 

67 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"I  paid  twenty-five  fer  that,  secon'  hand,  down  to 
Keene,"  said  the  proud  owner. 

"There!"  exclaimed  Phoebe.  "I've  always  wanted 
to  know  how  those  things  worked.  I've  heard  'em, 
you  know,  but  I've  never  worked  one." 

"It's  real  easy,"  said  Droop,  quite  delighted  to 
find  Phoebe  so  interested.  "Ye  see,  when  it's  wound 
up,  all  ye  hev  to  do  is  to  slip  one  o'  these  wax  cylin 
ders  on  here — so." 

He  adjusted  the  cylinder,  dropped  the  stylus  and 
pushed  the  starting  lever. 

Instantly  the  stentorian  announcement  rang  out 
from  the  megaphone. 

"The  Last  Rose  of  Summer — Sola — Sung  by  Si- 
gnora  Casta  Diva — Edison  Record!" 

"Goodness  gracious  sakes  alive !"  cried  Rebecca, 
turning  in  affright.  "Who's  that?" 

Her  two  companions  raised  their  right  hands  in  a 
simultaneous  appeal  for  silence.  Then  the  song  began. 

With  open  eyes  and  mouth,  the  amazed  Rebecca 
drew  slowly  nearer,  and  finally  took  her  stand  di 
rectly  in  front  of  the  megaphone. 

The  song  ended  and  Copernicus  stopped  the  motor. 

"Oh,  ain't  it  lovely!"  Phoebe  cried. 

"Well — I'll — be — switched!"  Rebecca  exclaimed, 
with  slow  emphasis.  "Can  it  sing  anythin'  else?" 

"Didn't  you  never  hear  one  afore,  Cousin  Re 
becca?"  Droop  asked. 

"I  never  did,"  she  replied.  "What  on  the  face 
of  the  green  airth  does  it?" 

68 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

"Have  ye  any  funny  ones?"  Phoebe  asked,  quickly, 
fearful  of  receiving  a  long  scientific  lecture. 

"Yes,"  said  Droop.  "Here's  a  nigger  minstrels. 
The's  some  jokes  in  it." 

The  loud  preliminary  announcement  made  Re 
becca  jump  again,  but  while  the  music  and  the  songs 
and  jokes  were  delivered,  she  stood  earnestly  atten 
tive  throughout,  while  her  companions  grinned  and 
giggled  alternately. 

"Is  thet  all  ?"  she  asked  at  the  conclusion. 

"Thet's  all,"  said  Droop,  as  he  removed  the  cyl 
inder. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  nothin'  funny  'bout  it,"  she  said, 
plaintively. 

Droop's  pride  was  touched. 

"Ah,  but  that  ain't  all  it  can  do!"  he  cried.  "Here's 
a  blank  cylinder.  You  jest  talk  at  the  machine  while 
it's  runnin',  an'  it'll  talk  back  all  you  say." 

This  was  too  much  for  Rebecca's  credulity,  and 
Droop  could  not  induce  her  to  talk  into  the  trum 
pet. 

"You  can't  make  a  fool  o'  me,  Copernicus  Droop," 
she  exclaimed. 

"You  try,  Cousin  Phoebe,"  he  said  at  last. 

Phoebe  looked  dubiously  at  her  sister  as  though 
half  of  opinion  that  her  shrewd  example  should  be 
followed. 

"You  sure  it'll  do  it?"  she  asked. 

"Certain!"  cried  Copernicus,  nodding  his  head 
with  violence. 

69 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

She  stood  a  moment  leaning  over  with  her  pretty 
lips  close  to  the  trumpet. 

Then  she  straightened  up  with  a  face  of  comical 
despair. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she  exclaimed. 

Droop  stopped  the  motor  and  looked  about  the 
room.  Suddenly  his  eyes  brightened. 

"There,"  he  cried,  pointing  to  the  book  Phoebe 
had  been  reading,  "read  suthin'  out  o'  that  into 
it." 

Phoebe  opened  the  book  at  random,  and  as  Droop 
started  the  motor  again  she  read  the  following  lines 
slowly  and  distinctly  into  the  trumpet: 

"It  is  thus  made  clear  from  the  indubitable  evi 
dence  of  the  plays  themselves  that  Francis  Bacon 
wrote  the  immortal  works  falsely  ascribed  to  "Will 
iam  Shakespeare,  and  that  the  gigantic  genius  of  this 
man  was  the  result  of  the  possession  of  royal  blood. 
In  this  unacknowledged  son  of  Elizabeth  Tudor, 
Queen  of  England,  was  made  manifest  to  all  coun 
tries  and  for  all  centuries  the  glorious  powers  inher 
ent  in  the  regal  blood  of  England." 

"That'll  do,"  said  Droop.  "Now  jest  hear  it  talk 
back." 

He  substituted  the  repeating  stylus  for  the  record 
ing  point  and  set  the  motor  in  motion  once  more. 
To  the  complete  stupefaction  of  Rebecca,  the  repe 
tition  of  Phoebe's  words  was  perfect. 

"Why !  It's  Phoebe's  voice,"  she  began,  but  Phoebe 
broke  in  upon  her  suddenly. 

70 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

"Why,  see  the  hills  on  each  side  of  us,  Mr.  Droop," 
she  cried. 

Droop  glanced  out  and  leaped  a  foot  from  the 
ground. 

"Goramighty!"  he  screamed,  "she'll  strike!"  He 
dashed  to  the  engine-room  and  threw  up  the  forward 
edges  of  the  aeroplanes.  Instantly  the  vessel  swooped 
upward  and  the  hills  Phoebe  had  seen  appeared  to 
drop  into  some  great  abyss. 

The  two  women  ran  to  a  window  and  saw  that 
they  were  over  a  bleak  and  rocky  island  covered  with 
ice  and  snow. 

Droop  came  to  their  side,  quite  pale  with  fright. 

"Great  Moses!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  warn't  more'n 
jest  in  time,  I  tell  ye!  We  was  a-settlin'  fast.  A 
little  more'n  we'd  ha'  struck — "  He  snapped  the 
fingers  of  both  hands  and  made  a  gesture  expressive 
of  the  complete  destruction  which  would  have  re 
sulted. 

"I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Droop,"  said  Rebecca,  stern 
ly,  but  with  a  little  shake  in  her  voice,  "you've  got 
to  jest  tend  to  business  and  navigate  this  thing  we're 
a-ridin'  on.  You  can't  work  and  play  too.  Don't 
you  say  anythin'  more  to  Phoebe  or  me  till  we  get 
to  the  pole.  What  time'll  that  be?" 

"About  six  or  half-past,  I  expect,"  said  Droop, 
humbly.  "But  I  don't  see  how  I  can  be  workin'  all 
the  time.  The  machine  don't  need  it,  an',  besides, 
I've  got  to  eat,  haven't  I?" 

"When  it  comes  time  fer  your  victuals,  Phoebe'll 
71 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

watch  the  windows  an'  the  little  clocks  on  the  wall 
while  I  feed  ye.  But  don't  open  yer  head  agin  now, 
only  fer  necessary  talkin'  an'  eatin',  till  we  get  there. 
I  don't  want  any  smash-ups  'round  here." 

Copernicus  found  it  expedient  to  obey  these  in 
structions,  and  under  Eebecca's  watchful  generalship 
he  was  obliged  to  pace  back  and  forth  from  engine- 
room  to  window  while  Phosbe  read  and  her  sister 
knitted.  So  passed  the  remainder  of  the  day,  save 
when  at  dinner-time  the  famished  man  was  relieved 
by  his  young  lieutenant. 

Immediately  after  supper,  however,  they  all  three 
posted  themselves  at  the  windows,  on  the  lookout  for 
the  North  Pole.  Droop  slowed  down  the  propeller, 
and  the  aeroplanes  being  thus  rendered  less  effective 
they  slowly  descended. 

They  were  passing  over  an  endless  plain  of  rough 
and  ragged  ice.  In  every  direction  all  the  way  to 
the  horizon  nothing  could  be  seen  but  the  glare  of 
white. 

"How'll  you  know  when  we  get  there?"  asked 
Phoebe. 

Droop  glanced  apprehensively  at  Rebecca  and  re 
plied  in  a  whisper: 

"We'll  see  the  pole  a-stickin'  up.  We  can't  go 
wrong,  you  know.  The  Panchronicon  is  fixed  to 
guide  itself  allus  due  north." 

"You  don't  need  to  whisper — speak  right  up,  Mr. 
Droop,"  said  Rebecca,  sharply. 

Copernicus  started,  looked  nervously  about  and 
72 


A  CHANGE  OP  PLAN 

then  stared  out  of  the  window  northward  with  a  very 
business-like  frown. 

"Is  the'  really  an'  truly  a  pole  there?"  Phcebe  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Droop,  shortly. 

"An'  can  ye  see  the  meridians  jammed  together 
like  in  the  geographies?"  asked  Rebecca. 

"No,"  said  Droop,  "no,  indeed — at  least,  I  didn't 
see  any." 

"Why,  Rebecca,"  said  Phoebe,  "the  meridians  are 
only  conventional  signs,  you  know.  They  don't " 

"Hallo!"  Droop  cried,  suddenly,  "what's  that?" 
He  raised  a  spyglass  with  which  he  had  hitherto  been 
playing  and  directed  it  northward  for  a  few  seconds. 
Then  he  turned  with  a  look  of  relief  on  his  face. 

"It's  the  pole!"  he  exclaimed. 

Phosbe  snatched  the  spyglass  and  applied  it  to  her 
eye. 

Yes,  on  the  horizon  she  could  discern  a  thin  black 
line,  rising  vertically  from  the  plain  of  ice.  Even 
as  she  looked  it  seemed  to  be  nearer,  so  rapid  was 
their  progress. 

Droop  went  to  the  engine-room,  lessened  speed 
and  brought  the  aeroplanes  to  the  horizontal.  He 
could  look  directly  forward  through  a  thick  glass  port 
directly  over  the  starting-handle.  Gradually  the 
great  machine  settled  lower  and  lower.  It  was  now 
running  quite  slowly  and  the  aeroplanes  acted  only 
as  parachutes  as  they  glided  still  forward  toward  the 
black  upright  line. 

In  silence  the  three  waited  for  the  approaching 
73 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

end  of  this  first  stage  of  their  journey.  A  few  hun 
dred  yards  south  of  their  goal  they  seemed  about  to 
alight,  but  Droop  slightly  inclined  the  aeroplanes 
and  speeded  up  the  propeller  a  little.  Their  vessel 
swept  gently  upward  and  northward  again,  like  a 
gull  rising  from  the  sea.  Then  Droop  let  it  settle 
again.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  fall  rather  vio 
lently  upon  the  solid  mass  of  ice  below  them,  he 
projected  a  relatively  small  volume  of  gas  from  be 
neath  the  structure.  Its  reaction  eased  their  de 
scent,  and  they  settled  down  without  noise  or  shock. 

They  had  arrived! 

Copernicus  came  forward  to  the  window  and 
pointed  to  a  tall,  stout  steel  pole  projecting  from  the 
ice  a  few  yards  to  the  right  of  the  vessel. 

"Thet,  neighbors,  is  the  North  Pole !"  he  said,  with 
a  sweeping  wave  of  the  hand. 

For  some  minutes  the  three  voyagers  stood  in  si 
lence  gazing  through  the  window  at  the  famous  pole. 
This,  then,  was  the  goal  of  so  much  heroic  endeav 
or!  It  was  to  reach  this  complete  opposite  of  all 
that  is  ordinarily  attractive  that  countless  ambitious 
men  had  suffered — that  so  many  had  died! 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Rebecca  at  length.  "I  be 
switched  ef  I  see  what  there  is  fer  so  many  folks  to 
make  sech  a  fuss  about!" 

Droop  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully  and  made 
no  reply.  Surely  it  would  have  been  hard  to  point 
out  any  charms  in  the  endless  plain  of  opaque  ice 
hummocks,  unrelieved  save  by  that  gaunt  steel  pole. 

74  ' 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

"Where's  the  open  sea?"  Rebecca  asked,  after  a 
few  moments'  pause.  "Dr.  Kane  said  the'  was  an 
open  sea  up  here." 

"Oh,  Dr.  Kane!"  said  Droop,  contemptuously. 
"He's  no  'count  fer  modern  facts." 

"What  I  can't  understand,"  said  Phoebe,  "is  how 
it  comes  that,  if  nobody's  ever  been  up  here,  they 
all  seem  to  know  there's  a  North  Pole  here." 

"That's  a  fact,"  Rebecca  exclaimed.  "How'd  they 
know  about  it  ?  The'  ain't  anythin'  in  the  Bible  'bout 
it,  is  the'?" 

Droop  looked  more  cheerful  at  this  and  answered 
briskly: 

"Oh,  they  don't  know  'bout  it.  Ye  see,  that  pole 
there  ain't  a  nat'ral  product  of  the  soil  at  all.  Et's 
the  future  man  done  that — the  man  who  invented 
this  Panchronicon  and  brought  me  up  here  before. 
He  told  me  how  that  he  stuck  that  post  in  there  to 
help  him  run  this  machine  'round  and  'round  fer 
cuttin'  meridians." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  both  sisters  together. 

"Yes"  Droop  continued.  "D'ye  see  thet  big  iron 
ring  'round  the  pole,  lyin'  on  the  ground?" 

"I  don't  see  any  ground,"  said  Rebecca,  ruefully. 

"Well,  on  the  ice,  then.  Don't  ye  see  it  lyin' 
black  there  against  the  snow?" 

"Yes — yes,  I  see  it,"  said  Phoebe. 

"Well,  that's  what  I'm  goin'  to  hitch  the  holdin' 
rope  on  to.  You'll  see  how  it's  done  presently." 

He  glanced  at  the  clock. 
75 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Seven  o'clock,"  lie  said.  "I  guessed  mighty  close 
when  I  said  'twould  take  us  twenty  hours.  "We  left 
Peltonville  at  ten-thirty  last  night." 

"Seven  o'clock!"  cried  Eebecca.  "So  'tis.  Why, 
what's  the  matter  with  the  sun.  Ain't  it  goin'  to 
set  at  all?" 

"Not  much !"  said  Droop,  chuckling.  "Sim  don't 
set  up  here,  Cousin  Kebecca.  Not  until  winter-time, 
an'  then  et  stays  set  till  summer  again." 

"Well!"  was  the  breathless  reply.  "An'  where  in 
creation  does  it  go  when  it  stays  set?" 

"Why,  Rebecca,"  exclaimed  Phoebe,  "the  sun  is 
south  of  the  equator  in  winter,  you  know." 

"Shinin'  on  the  South  Pole  then,"  Droop  added, 
nodding. 

For  a  moment  Rebecca  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  of  her  companions,  and  then,  realizing  the  ne 
cessity  of  keeping  her  mind  within  its  accustomed 
sphere,  she  changed  the  subject. 

"Come  now — the'  ain't  any  wind  to  blow  us  away 
now,  I  hope.  Let's  open  our  windows  an'  air  out 
those  state-rooms." 

She  started  toward  her  door. 

"Hold  on!"  cried  Droop,  extending  his  arm  to  stop 
her.  "You  don't  want  to  fall  down  dead  o'  cold, 
do  ye?" 

"What!" 

"Don't  you  know  what  a  North  Pole  is  like  fer 
weather  an'  sich?"  Droop  continued.  "Why,  Cousin 
Rebecca,  it's  mos'  any  'mount  below  zero  outside. 

76 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

Don't  you  open  a  window — not  a  tiny  crack — if  ye 
don't  want  to  freeze  solid  in  a  second." 

"There!"  Rebecca  exclaimed.  "You  do  provoke 
me  beyond  anythin',  Copernicus  Droop!  Ef  I'd 
a-knowed  the  kind  o'  way  we'd  had  to  live — why, 
there!  It's  wuss'n  pigs!" 

She  marched  indignantly  into  her  room  and  closed 
the  door.  A  moment  later  she  put  out  her  head. 

"Phoebe  Wise,"  she  said,  "if  you  take  my  advice, 
you'll  make  your  bed  an'  tidy  yer  room  at  once. 
Ain't  any  use  waitin'  any  longer  fer  a  chance  to 
air." 

Phoebe  smiled  and  moved  toward  her  own  door. 

"Thet's  a  good  idea,"  said  Droop.  "You  fix  yer 
rooms  an'  I'll  do  some  figurin'.  Ye  see  I've  got  to 
figur  out  how  long  it'll  take  us  to  get  back  six  years. 
I've  a  notion  it'll  take  about  eighteen  hours,  but  I 
ain't  certain  sure." 

Poor  Rebecca  set  to  work  in  her  rooms  with  far 
from  enviable  feelings.  Her  curiosity  had  been 
largely  satisfied  and  the  unwonted  conditions  were 
proving  very  trying  indeed.  Could  she  have  set  out 
with  the  prospect  of  returning  to  those  magical  days 
of  youth  and  courtship,  as  Droop  had  originally  pro 
posed,  the  end  would  have  justified  the  means.  But 
they  could  not  do  this  now  if  they  would,  for  Phoebe 
had  left  her  baby  clothes  behind.  Thus  her  disap 
pointment  added  to  her  burdens,  and  she  found  her 
self  wishing  that  she  had  never  left  her  comfortable 
home,  however  amazing  had  been  her  adventures.  . 

77 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"I  could'v  aired  my  bed  at  least,"  she  muttered, 
as  she  turned  the  mattress  of  her  couch  in  the  soli 
tude  of  her  chamber. 

She  found  the  long-accustomed  details  of  cham 
ber  work  a  comfort  and  solace,  and,  as  she  finally 
gazed  about  the  tidy  room  at  her  completed  work, 
she  felt  far  more  contented  with  her  lot  than  she 
had  felt  before  beginning. 

"I  guess  I'll  go  help  Phoebe,"  she  thought.  "The 
girl  is  that  slow!" 

As  she  came  from  her  room  she  found  Copernicus 
leaning  over  the  table,  one  hand  buried  in  his  hair 
and  the  other  wielding  a  pencil.  He  was  absorbed 
in  arithmetical  calculations. 

She  did  not  disturb  him,  but  turned  and  entered 
Phoebe's  room  without  the  formality  of  knocking. 
As  she  opened  the  door,  there  was  a  sharp  clatter, 
as  of  a  door  or  lid  slamming. 

"Who's  there?"  cried  Phoebe,  sharply. 

She  was  seated  on  the  floor  in  front  of  her  trunk, 
and  she  looked  up  at  her  sister  with  a  flushed  and 
startled  face. 

"Oh,  it's  you!"  she  said,  guiltily. 

Rebecca  glanced  at  the  bed. 

It  had  not  been  touched. 

"Well,  I  declare!"  Rebecca  exclaimed.  "Ain't 
you  ever  agoin'  to  fix  up  your  room,  Phcebe 
Wise?" 

"Oh,  in  a  minute,  Rebecca.  I  was  just  agoin'  over 
my  trunk  a  minute." 

78 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

She  leaned  back  against  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
folding  her  hands  gazed  pensively  into  vacancy,  while 
Rebecca  stared  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"Do  you  know,"  Phoebe  went  on,  "I've  ben  think- 
in'  it's  awful  mean  not  to  give  you  a  chance  to  go 
back  to  1876,  Rebecca.  Joe  Chandler's  a  mighty 
fine  man!" 

Rebecca  gave  vent  to  an  unintelligible  murmur 
and  turned  to  Phoebe's  bed.  She  grasped  the  mat 
tress  and  gave  it  a  vicious  shake  as  she  turned  it  over. 
She  was  probably  only  transferring  to  this  inoffen 
sive  article  a  process  which  she  would  gladly  have 
applied  elsewhere. 

There  was  a  long  silence  while  Rebecca  resent 
fully  drew  the  sheets  into  proper  position,  smoothed 
them  with  swift  pats  and  caressings,  and  tucked  them 
neatly  under  at  head  and  sides.  Then  came  a  soft, 
apologetic  voice. 

"Rebecca!" 

The  spinster  made  no  reply  but  applied  herself  to 
a  mathematically  accurate  adjustment  of  the  top 
edge  of  the  upper  sheet. 

"Rebecca!" 

The  second  call  was  a  little  louder  than  the  first, 
and  there  was  a  queer  half-sobbing,  half-laughing 
catch  in  the  speaker's  voice  that  commanded  atten 
tion. 

Rebecca  looked  up. 

Phoebe  was  still  sitting  on  the  floor  beside  her 
trunk,  but  the  trunk  was  open  now  and  the  young 

79 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

woman's  rosy  face  was  peering  with,  a  pathetic  smile 
over  a — what! — could  it  be! 

Rebecca  leaned  forward  in  amazement. 

Yes,  it  was!  In  Phoebe's  outstretched  hands  was 
the  dearest  possible  little  baby's  undergarment — all 
of  cambric,  with  narrow  ribbons  at  the  neck. 

For  a  few  seconds  the  two  sisters  looked  at  each 
other  over  this  unexpected  barrier.  Then  Phoebe's 
lips  quivered  into  a  pathetic  curve  and  she  buried 
her  face  in  the  little  garment,  laughing  and  crying 
at  once. 

Rebecca  dropped  helplessly  into  a  chair. 

"Phoebe  Martin  Wise!"  she  exclaimed.  "Do  you 
mean — hev  you  brought ?" 

She  fell  silent,  and  then,  darting  at  her  sister,  she 
took  her  head  in  her  hands  and  deposited  a  sudden 
kiss  on  the  smooth  bright  gold-brown  hair  and 
whisked  out  of  Phoebe's  room  and  into  her  own. 

In  the  meantime  Copernicus  was  too  deeply  ab 
sorbed  in  his  calculations  to  notice  these  comings  and 
goings.  Apparently  he  had  been  led  into  the  most 
abstruse  mathematical  regions.  Nothing  short  of 
the  triple  integration  of  transcendental  functions 
should  have  been  adequate  to  produce  those  lines 
of  anxious  care  in  his  face  as  he  slowly  covered  sheet 
after  sheet  with  figures. 

He  was  at  length  startled  from  his  preoccupation 
by  a  gentle  voice  at  his  side. 

"Can't  I  help,  Mr.  Droop?" 

It  was  Phoebe,  who,  having  made  all  right  in  her 
80 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

room  and  washed  all  traces  of  tears  from  her  face, 
had  come  to  note  Droop's  progress. 

Dazed,  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  unexpect 
edly  into  a  lovely  face  made  the  more  attractive  by 
an  expression  only  given  by  a  sense  of  duty  un 
selfishly  done. 

"I — I  wish'd  you'd  call  me  Cousin  Copernicus," 
he  said  for  the  fifth  time. 

She  picked  up  one  of  the  sheets  on  which  he  had 
been  scribbling  as  though  she  had  not  heard  him, 
and  said: 

"Why,  dear  me !  How  comes  it  you  have  so  much 
figurin'  to  do?" 

"Well,"  he  began,  in  a  querulous  tone,  "it  beats 
all  creation  how  many  things  a  feller  has  to  work 
out  at  once!  Ye  see,  I've  got  a  rope  forty  foot  long 
that's  got  to  tie  the  Panchronicon  to  the  North  Pole 
while  we  swing  'round  to  cut  meridians.  Now,  then, 
the  question  is,  How  many  times  an  hour  shall  we 
swing  'round  to  get  to  1892,  an'  how  long's  it  goin' 
to  take  an'  how  fast  must  I  make  the  old  thing  hum 
along?" 

"But  you  said  eighteen  hours  by  the  clock  would 
do  it."  " 

"Well,  I  jest  guessed  at  that  by  the  time  the  fu 
ture  man  an'  I  took  to  go  back  five  weeks,  ye  know. 
But  I  can't  seem  to  figur  it  out  right." 

Phoebe  seated  herself  at  the  table  and  took  up  a 
blank  sheet  of  paper. 

"Please  lend  me  your  pencil,"  she  said.  "Now, 
81 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

then,  every  time  you  whirl  once  'round  the  pole  to 
westward  you  lose  one  day,  don't  you?" 

"That's  it,"  said  Droop,  cheerfully.  "Cuttin' 
twenty-four  meridians " 

"And  how  many  days  in  twenty-two  years?"  Phoebe 
broke  in. 

"You  mean  in  six  years." 

"Why,  no,"  she  replied,  glancing  at  Droop  with 
a  mischievous  smile,  "it's  twenty-two  years  back  to 
1876,  ain't  it?" 

"To  "76— why,  but " 

He  caught  sight  of  her  face  and  stopped  short. 

There  came  a  pleased  voice  from  one  of  the  state 
rooms. 

"Yes,  we've  decided  to  go  all  the  way  back,  Mr. 
Droop." 

It  was  Rebecca. 

She  came  forward  and  stood  beside  her  sister, 
placing  one  hand  affectionately  upon  her  shoulder. 

Droop  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  both  hands 
on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"Goin'  all  the  way!     Why,  but  then " 

He  leaped  to  his  feet  with  a  radiant  face. 

"Great  Jumpin'  Jerusha !"  he  cried. 

Slapping  his  thigh  he  began  to  pace  excitedly  up 
and  down. 

"Why,  then,  we'll  get  all  the  big  inventions  out 
— kodak  an'  phonograph  and  all.  We'll  marry  Joe 
Chandler  an'  set  things  agoin'  in  two  shakes  f  er  mill 
ions." 

82 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

"Eight  thousand  and  thirty-five,"  said  Phoebe  in 
a  quiet  voice,  putting  her  pencil  to  her  lips.  "We'll 
have  to  whirl  round  the  pole  eight  thousand  and 
thirty-five  times." 

"Whose  goin'  to  keep  count?"  asked  Rebecca, 
cheerfully.  Ah,  how  different  it  all  seemed  now! 
Every  dry  detail  was  of  interest. 

Phoebe  looked  up  at  Droop,  who  now  resumed  his 
seat,  somewhat  sobered. 

"Don't  have  to  keep  count,"  he  replied.  "See 
that  indicator?"  he  continued,  pointing  to  a  dial  in 
the  ceiling  which  had  not  been  noticed  before.  "That 
reads  May  3,  1898,  now,  don't  it?  Well,  it's  fixed 
to  keep  always  tellin'  the  right  date.  It  counts  the 
whirls  we  make  an'  keeps  tabs  on  every  day  we  go 
backward.  Any  time  all  ye  hev  to  do  is  to  read  that 
thing  an'  it'll  tell  ye  jest  what  day  'tis." 

"Then  what  do  you  want  to  calculate  how  often 
to  whirl  round?"  asked  Phcebe,  in  disgusted  tones. 

"Well,  ye  see  I  want  to  plan  out  how  long  it'll 
take,"  Droop  replied.  "I  want  to  go  slow  so  as  to 
avoid  side  weight — but  I  don't  want  to  go  too  slow." 

"I  see,"  said  Phcebe.  "Well,  then,  how  many 
times  a  minute  did  the  future  man  take  you  when 
you  whirled  back  five  weeks?" 

"  'Bout  two  times  a  minute." 

"That's  one  hundred  and  twenty  times  every  hour. 
Did  you  feel  much  side  weight  then?" 

"Scarcely  any." 

"Well,  let's  see.  Divide  eight  thousand  and  thir- 
83 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

tj-five  whirls  by  one  hundred  and  twenty,  an'  you 
get  sixty-seven  hours.  So  that,  ef  we  go  at  that  rate 
it'll  be  two  days  and  nineteen  hours  'fore  we  get 
back  to  1876." 

"Don't  talk  about  days,"  Droop  objected.  "It's 
sixty-seven  hours  by  the  clock — but  it's  twenty-two 
years  less  than  no  time  in  days,  ye  know." 

"Sixty-seven  hours,"  said  Phoebe.  "Well,  that 
ain't  so  bad,  is  it?  Why  not  go  round  twice  a  min 
ute?" 

"We  can't  air  our  beds  fer  three  days,  Phoebe," 
said  Rebecca. 

"But  if  we  go  much  faster,  we'll  all  be  sick  with 
this  side  weight  trouble  that  Mr.  Droop  tells 
about." 

"I  vote  fer  twice  a  minute,"  said  Droop.  And  so 
twice  a  minute  was  adopted. 

"Air  ye  goin'  to  start  to-night,  Mr.  Droop?"  asked 
Rebecca.^ 

"Well,  no,"  he  replied.  "I  think  it's  best  to  wait 
till  to-morrow.  Ye  see,  the  power  that  runs  the 
Panchronicon  is  got  out  o'  the  sunlight  that  falls  on 
it.  Of  course,  we're  not  all  run  out  o'  power  by  a 
good  lot,  but  we've  used  considerable,  an'  I  think 
it's  a  little  mite  safer  to  lie  still  fer  a  few  hours  here 
an  'take  in  power  from  the  sun.  Ye  see,  it'll  shine 
steady  on  us  all  night,  an'  we'll  store  up  enough 
power  to  be  sure  o'  reachin'  1ST 6  in  one  clip." 

"Well,"  said  Rebecca,  "ef  thet's  the  plan,  I'm  goin' 
to  bed  right  now.  It's  after  eight  o'clock,  an'  I  didn't 

84 


A  CHANGE  OF  PLAN 

get  to  sleep  las'  night  till  goodness  knows  when. 
Good-night!  Hedn't  you  better  go,  too,  Phoebe?" 

"I  guess  I  will,"  said  Phoebe,  turning  to  Coperni 
cus.  "Good-night,  Mr.  Droop." 

"Good-night,  Cousin  Phoebe — good-night,  Cousin 
Rebecca.  I'll  go  to  bed  myself,  I  b'lieve." 

The  two  doors  were  closed  and  Droop  proceeded 
to  draw  the  steel  shutters  in  order  to  produce  arti 
ficially  the  gloom  not  vouchsafed  by  a  too-persistent 
sun. 

In  half  an  hour  all  were  asleep  within  the  now 
motionless  conveyance. 


85 


CHAPTER  V 

DROOP'S  THEORY  IN  PRACTICE 

ALL  were  up  betimes  when  the  faithful  clock  an 
nounced  that  it  ought  to  be  morning.  As  for  the 
sun,  as  though  resenting  the  liberties  about  to  be 
taken  by  these  adventurers  with  its  normal  functions, 
it  refused  to  set,  and  was  found  by  the  three  travel 
lers  at  the  same  altitude  as  the  night  before. 

Promptly  after  breakfast  Droop  proceeded  to  don 
a  suit  of  furs  which  he  drew  from  a  cupboard  within 
the  engine-room. 

"Ye'd  better  hev  suthin'  hot  ready  when  I  come  in 
again,"  he  said.  "I  'xpect  I'll  be  nigh  froze  to  death." 

He  drew  on  a  huge  cap  of  bear's  fur  which  ex 
tended  from  his  crown  to  his  shoulders.  There  was 
a  small  hole  in  front  which  exposed  only  his  nose 
and  eyes. 

"My,  but  you  do  look  just  like  a  pictur  of  Kris 
Kringle!"  laughed  Phoebe.  "Don't  he,  Rebecca?" 

Rebecca  came  to  the  kitchen  door  wiping  a  dish 
with  slow  circular  movements  of  her  towel. 

"I  don't  guess  you'll  freeze  very  much  with  all 
that  on,"  she  remarked. 

"Thet  shows  you  don't  know  what  seventy  or  eighty 
below  zero  means,"  said  a  muffled  voice  from  within 

86 


DROOP'S  THEORY  IN  PRACTICE 

the  fur  cap.  "You'll  hev  suthin'  hot,  won't  ye?" 
Droop  continued,  looking  appealingly  at  Phoebe. 

"The'll  be  a  pot  o'  good  hot  tea,"  she  said.  "That'll 
warm  you  all  right." 

Droop  thought  of  something  more  stimulating  and 
fragrant,  but  said  nothing  as  he  returned  to  the  cup 
board.  Here  he  drew  forth  an  apparently  endless 
piece  of  stout  rope.  This  he  wound  in  a  thick  coil 
and  hung  over  his  head. 

"Now,  then,"  he  said,  "when  I  get  down  you  shet 
the  door  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  tight,  coz  jest's  soon's 
I  open  the  outside  door,  thet  hall's  goin'  to  freeze 
up  solid." 

"All  right!"  said  Phoebe.    "I'll  see  to  it." 

Droop  descended  the  stairs  with  a  heavy  tread, 
and  as  he  reached  the  foot  Phoabe  closed  the  upper 
door,  which  she  now  noticed  was  provided  with 
weather-strips. 

Then  the  two  women  stood  at  the  windows  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  vessel  and  watched  Droop  as 
he  walked  toward  the  pole.  He  raised  the  huge  iron 
ring,  snapping  over  it  a  special  coupling  hook  fixed 
to  the  end  of  the  rope. 

Then  he  backed  toward  the  vessel,  unrolling  the 
coil  of  rope  as  he  moved  away  from  the  pole.  Evi 
dently  they  were  within  the  forty-foot  limit  from 
the  pole,  for  Droop  had  some  rope  to  spare  when 
he  at  length  reached  under  the  machine  to  attach 
the  end  to  a  ring  which  the  sisters  could  not  see. 

He  emerged  from  beneath  the  bulging  side  of  the 
87 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

vessel  swinging  his  arms  and  blowing  a  mighty  vol 
ume  of  steam,  which  turned  to  snow  as  it  left  him. 
As  he  made  directly  for  the  entrance  again,  Phoebe 
ran  to  the  kitchen. 

"Poor  man,  he'll  be  perished!"  she  exclaimed. 

As  Droop  entered  the  room,  bringing  with  him  a 
bitter  atmosphere,  Phcebe  appeared  with  a  large  cup 
of  hot  tea. 

"Here,  Mr.  Droop,"  she  said,  "drink  this  quick!" 

Copernicus  pulled  off  his  cap  and  sat  down  to  drink 
his  tea  without  a  word.  When  he  had  finished  it,  he 
pulled  back  his  chair  with  a  sigh. 

"Whillikins!  But  'twas  cold!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Seems  mos'  like  heaven  to  get  into  a  nice  warm 
room  like  this!" 

"An'  did  ye  get  every  thin'  done  right?"  Kebecca 
asked. 

"I  guess  I  did,"  he  said,  emphatically.  "I  don't 
want  to  take  no  two  bites  out  o'  that  kind  o'  cherry." 

He  rose  and  proceeded  to  remove  his  fur  coverings. 

"Goin'  to  start  right  now?"  said  Phoebe. 

"Might's  well,  I  guess." 

He  proceeded  to  the  engine-room,  followed  by 
Phcebe,  who  watched  his  actions  with  the  greatest 
interest. 

"What  you  doin'  with  that  handle?"  she  asked. 

"That  sets  the  airyplane  on  the  uptilt.  I'm  only 
settin'  it  a  mite — jest  'nough  to  keep  the  machine 
from  sinkin'  down  when  we  get  to  movin'." 

"How  are  you  goin'  to  lift  us  up?" 
88 


"Just  let  out  a  mite  o'  gas  below,"  said  Droop. 
He  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  and,  with  a  tremen 
dous  hissing  beneath  it,  the  vessel  rose  slowly. 

Droop  pulled  the  starting  lever  and  they  moved 
forward  with  increasing  speed.  When  they  had  gath 
ered  way,  he  shut  off  the  gas  escape  and  carefully 
readjusted  the  aeroplanes  until  the  machine  as  a 
whole  moved  horizontally. 

There  was  felt  a  slight  jerk  as  they  reached  the 
end  of  the  rope,  and  then  they  began  to  move  in  a 
circle  from  east  to  west. 

Phoebe  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"Just  five  minutes  past  eight,"  she  said. 

The  sun  was  pouring  its  beams  into  the  right-hand 
windows  when  they  started,  but  the  shafts  of  light 
now  began  to  sweep  circularly  across  the  floor,  and 
in  a  few  moments,  as  they  faced  the  sun,  it  ceased 
to  shine  in  from  the  right.  Immediately  afterward 
it  shone  in  at  the  left-hand  windows  and  circled  slow 
ly  around  until  again  they  were  in  shadow  with  the 
sun  behind  them. 

Droop  took  out  his  watch  and  timed  their  revolu 
tions  by  the  sun's  progress  from  window  to  window. 

"  'Bout  one  to  the  minute,"  he  remarked.  "Guess 
I'll  speed  her  up  a  mite." 

Carefully  he  regulated  the  speed,  timing  their 
revolutions  accurately. 

"There !"  he  said  at  length.  "I  guess  that's  pretty 
nigh  two  to  the  minute.  D'ye  feel  any  side  weight?" 
he  said,  addressing  his  companions. 

89 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"No,"  said  Rebecca. 

Phoebe  shook  her  head. 

"You  manage  right  well,  Mr.  Droop,"  she  said. 
"You  must  have  practised  a  good  deal." 

"Oh,  not  much,"  he  replied,  greatly  pleased.  "The 
future  man  showed  me  how  to  work  it  three — four 
times.  It's  simple  'nough  when  ye  understand  the 
principles." 

These  remarks  brought  a  new  idea  to  Rebecca's 
mind. 

"Why,  Mr.  Droop,"  she  exclaimed,  "whatever's  the 
use  o'  you  goin'  back  to  1876!  "Why  don't  ye  jest 
set  up  as  the  inventor  o'  this  machine?  I'm  sure 
thet  ought  to  make  yer  everlastin'  fortune !" 

"Oh,  I  thought  o'  that,"  he  said.  "But  it's  one 
thing  to  know  how  to  work  a  thing  an'  it's  a  sight 
different  to  know  how  it's  made  an'  all  that.  The 
future  man  tried  to  explain  all  the  new  scientific 
principles  that  was  mixed  into  it — fer  makin'  power 
an'  all — but  I  couldn't  understand  that  part  at 
all." 

"An'  besides,"  exclaimed  Phoebe,  "it's  a  heap  more 
fun  to  be  the  only  ones  can  use  the  thing,  I  think." 

"Yes — seems  like  fun's  all  we're  thinkin'  of,"  said 
Rebecca,  rising  and  moving  toward  the  kitchen. 
"We're  jest  settin'  round  doin'  nothin'.  I'll  finish 
with  the  breakfast  things  if  you'll  put  to  rights  and 
dust,  Phoebe.  We  can't  make  beds  till  night  with 
the  windows  tight  shut." 

These  suggestions  were  followed  by  the  two  worn- 
90 


DROOP'S  THEORY  IN  PRACTICE 

en,  while  Droop,  picking  up  the  newspaper  which 
Rebecca  had  brought,  sat  down  to  read. 

After  a  long  term,  of  quiet  reading,  his  attention 
was  distracted  by  Rebecca's  voice. 

"I  declare  to  goodness,  Phoebe!"  she  was  saying. 
"Seems  's  if  every  chance  you  get,  you  go  to  readin' 
those  old  letters." 

"Well,  the's  one  or  two  that's  spelled  so  funny  and 
written  so  badly  that  I  haven't  been  able  yet  to  read 
them,"  Phoebe  replied. 

Droop  looked  over  his  paper.  Phoebe  and  her  sis 
ter  were  seated  near  one  of  the  windows  on  the  oppo 
site  side. 

"P'raps  I  could  help  ye,  Cousin  Phcebe,"  he  said. 
"I've  got  mighty  strong  eyesight." 

"Oh,  'tain't  a  question  of  eyesight,"  Phoebe  re 
plied,  laughing. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Droop,  smiling  slyly,  "letters 
from  some  young  feller,  eh?" 

He  winked  knowingly  at  Rebecca,  who  drew  her 
self  up  indignantly  and  looked  severely  down  at  her 
knitting. 

Phoebe  blushed,  but  replied  quite  calmly: 

"Yes — some  of  them  from  a  young  man,  but  they 
weren't  any  of  them  written  to  me." 

"No?"  said  Droop.  "Who  was  they  to — 'f  I  may 
ask?" 

"They  were  all  written  to  this  lady." 

Phcebe  held  something  out  for  Droop's  inspection, 
and  he  walked  over  to  take  it. 

91 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

He  recognized  at  once  the  miniature  on  ivory 
which  he  had  seen  once  before  in  Peltonville. 

"Well,"  he  said,  taking  the  portrait  from  her  and 
eying  it  with  his  head  on  one  side,  "if  ye  hadn't  said 
'twasn't  you,  I'd  certainly  a-thought  'twas.  I'd  mos' 
sworn  'twas  your  photygraph,  Cousin  Phoebe.  Who 
is  it,  anyway?" 

"It  isn't  anybody,"  she  replied,  "but  it  was  Mis 
tress  Mary  Burton  of  Burton  Hall.  I'm  one  of  her 
descendants,  an'  these  are  some  letters  she  had  with 
her  in  this  funny  old  carved  box  when  she  disap 
peared  with  her  lover.  They  fled  to  Holland  and 
were  married  there,  the  story  goes,  an'  one  o'  their 
children  came  over  in  the  early  days  o'  New  England. 
He  brought  the  letters  an'  the  picture  with  him." 

"Well,  now!  I  want  to  know!"  exclaimed  Droop, 
in  great  admiration.  "  'Twouldn't  be  perlite,  I 
s'pose,  to  ask  to  hear  some  o'  them  letters  ?" 

"Would  you  like  to  hear  some  of  them?"  Phoebe 
asked. 

"I  would  fer  a  fact,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  bring  your  chair  over  here  and  I'll  read 
you  one,"  she  said. 

Droop  seated  himself  near  the  two  sisters  and 
Phoebe  unfolded  a  large  and  rather  rough  sheet  of 
paper,  yellow  with  age,  on  which  Droop  perceived 
a  bold  scrawl  in  a  faded  ink. 

"This  seems  to  have  been  from  Mary  Burton's 
father,"  Phoebe  said.  "I  don't  think  he  can  have 
been  a  very  nice  man.  This  is  what  he  says: 

92 


DROOP'S  THEORY   IN  PRACTICE 

"  'Dear  Poll' — horrid  nickname,  isn't  it?" 

"Seems  so  to  me,"  said  Droop. 

"  'Dear  Poll — I'm  starting  behind  the  grays  for 
London,  on  my  way,  as  you  know  ere  this,  to  be 
knighted  by  her  Majesty.  I  send  this  ahead  by  Greg 
ory  on  Bess — she  being  fast  enow  for  my  purpose — 
which  is  to  get  thee  straight  out  of  the  grip  of 
that' " 

Phoebe  hesitated. 

"He  uses  a  bad  word  there,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone.  "I'll  go  on  and  leave  that  out." 

"Yes,  do,"  said  Droop. 

"  'That aunt  of  thine,'  "  she  continued,  read 
ing.  "  'I  know  her  tricks  and  I  learn  how  she  hath 
suffered  that' " 

"There's  another,"  said  Phoebe. 

"Skip  it,"  said  Droop,  gravely. 

"  That   milk-and-water   popinjay   to   come 

courting  my  Poll.  So  see  you  follow  Gregory,  mis 
tress,  and  without  wait  or  parley  come  with  him  to 
the  Peacock  Inn,  where  I  lie  to-night.  The  grays 
are  in  fine  fettle  and  thy  black  mare  grows  too  fat 
for  want  of  exercise.  Thy  mother-in-law  commands 
thy  instant  return  with  Gregory,  having  much  busi 
ness  forward  with  preparing  gowns  and  fallals  against 
our  presentation  to  her  Majesty.' ' 

"It  is  signed  'Isaac  Burton,'  "  said  Phcebe,  "and 
see,  the  paper  was  sealed  with  a  steel  gauntlet." 

Droop  examined  the  seal  carefully  and  then  re 
turned  it,  saying: 

93 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Looks  to  me  like  a  bunch  of  'sparagus  tumbled 
over  on  one  side." 

Phoebe  laughed. 

"But  what  always  interests  me  most  in  this  letter 
is  the  postscript,"  she  said.  "It  reads:  'Thy  mother 
thinks  thou  wilt  make  better  speed  if  I  make  thee 
to  know  that  the  players  thou  wottest  of " 

"What's  a  'wottest?"  said  Droop,  in  puzzled 
tones. 

"Wottest  means  knowest — haven't  you  read 
Shakespeare?" 

"No,"  said  Droop. 

"  'The  players  thou  wottest  of  are  to  stop  at  the 
Peacock,  and  will  be  giving  some  sport  there.' 

"Now,  those  players  always  interest  me,"  Phoebe 
continued.  "Somehow  I  can't  help  but  believe  that 
William  Shakespeare " 

"Fiddle  ends!"  Rebecca  interrupted.  "I've  heard 
that  talk  fifty-leven  times  an'  I'm  pinin'  fer  relief. 
Mr.  Droop,  would  you  mind  tellin'  us  what  the  time 
o'  year  is  now.  Seems  to  me  that  sun  has  whirled 
in  an'  out  o'  that  window  'nough  times  to  bring  us 
back  to  the  days  o'  creation." 

Droop  consulted  the  date  indicator  and  announced 
that  it  was  now  September  5,  1897. 

"Not  a  year  yet !"  cried  the  two  women  together. 

"Why,  no,"  said  Copernicus.  "Ye  see,  we  are 
takin'  about  three  hours  to  lose  a  year." 

"Fer  the  lands  sakes!"  cried  Rebecca.  "Can't  we 
go  a  little  faster?" 

94 


DROOP'S  THEORY  IN  PRACTICE 

"My  gracious,  yes!"  said  Droop.  "But  I'm  'fraid 
o'  the  side  weight  fer  ye." 

"I'd  rather  hev  side  weight  than  wait  forever," 
said  Rebecca,  with  a  grim  smile. 

"D'ye  think  ye  could  stand  a  little  more  speed, 
Cousin  Phoebe?"  said  Droop. 

"We  might  try,"  she  replied. 

"Well,  let's  try,  then,"  he  said,  and  turned  prompt 
ly  to  the  engine-room. 

Very  soon  the  difference  in  speed  was  felt,  and 
as  they  found  themselves  travelling  more  rapidly  in 
a  circle,  the  centrifugal  force  now  became  distinctly 
perceptible. 

The  two  women  found  themselves  obliged  to  lean 
somewhat  toward  the  central  pole  to  counteract  this 
tendency,  and  as  Copernicus  emerged  from  the  en 
gine-room  he  came  toward  the  others  at  a  decided 
angle  to  the  floor. 

"There!  now  ye  feel  the  side  weight,"  he  ex 
claimed. 

"My,  ain't  it  funny!"  exclaimed  Rebecca.  "Thet's 
the  way  I've  felt  afore  now  when  the  cars  was  goin' 
round  a  curve — kinder  topplin'  like." 

"Why,  that  is  the  centrifugal  force,"  Phoebe  said, 
with  dignity. 

"It's  the  side  weight — that's  what  I  call  it,"  Droop 
replied,  obstinately,  and  for  some  time  there  was 
silence. 

"How  many  years  back  are  we  makin'  by  the  hour 
now,  Mr.  Droop?"  Rebecca  asked  at  length. 

95 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Jest  a  little  over  two  hours  fer  a  year  now,"  he 
replied. 

"Well,"  said  Rebecca,  in  a  discontented  tone,  "I 
think  the  old  Panchronicle  is  rayther  a  slow  actin' 
concern,  considerin'  th'  amount  o'  side  weight  it 
makes.  I  declare  I'm  mos'  tired  out  leanin'  over  to 
one  side,  like  old  man  Titus's  paralytic  cow." 

Phoebe  laughed  and  Droop  replied: 

"If  ye  can't  stand  it  or  set  it,  why  lay,  Cousin 
Rebecca.  The's  good  settles  all  'round." 

With  manifestly  injured  feelings  Droop  hunted 
up  a  book  and  sat  down  to  read  in  silence.  The 
Panchronicon  was  his  pet  and  he  did  not  relish  its 
being  thus  contemned. 

The  remainder  of  the  morning  was  spent  in  almost 
completely  silent  work  or  reading.  Droop  scarce 
took  his  eyes  from  his  book.  Phoebe  spent  part  of 
the  time  deep  in  the  Baconian  work  and  part  of  the 
time  contemplating  the  monotonous  landscape.  Re 
becca  was  dreaming  of  her  future  past — or  her  past 
future,  while  her  knitting  grew  steadily  upon  its 
needles. 

The  midday  meal  was  duly  prepared  and  disposed 
of,  and,  as  the  afternoon  wore  away,  the  three  travel 
lers  began  to  examine  the  date  indicator  and  to  ask 
themselves  surreptitiously  whether  or  not  they  act 
ually  felt  any  younger.  They  took  sly  peeps  at  each 
other's  faces  to  observe,  if  possible,  any  signs  of  re 
turning  youth. 

By  supper-time  there  was  certainly  a  less  aged  air 
96 


DROOP'S  THEORY  IN  PRACTICE 

about  each  of  the  three  and  the  elders  inwardly  con 
gratulated  themselves  upon  the  unmistakable  effects 
of  another  twelve  hours. 

Not  long  after  the  supper  dishes  had  been  washed, 
Rebecca  took  Phoebe  aside  and  said: 

"Phoebe,  it  seems  to  me  you'd  ought  to  be  goin' 
to  bed  right  soon,  now.  You're  only  'bout  eighteen 
years  old  at  present,  an'  you'll  certainly  begin  to 
grow  smaller  again  very  soon.  It  wouldn't  hardly 
be  respectable  fer  ye  to  do  yer  shrinkin'  out  here." 

This  view  of  the  probabilities  had  not  yet  struck 
Phoebe. 

"Why,  no!"  she  exclaimed,  rather  startled.  "I — 
I  don't  know  's  I  thought  about  it.  But  I  certainly 
don't  want  Mr.  Droop  to  see  me  when  my  clothes 
begin  to  hang  loose." 

Then  a  new  problem  presented  itself. 

"Come  to  think  of  it,  Rebecca,"  she  said,  dolefully, 
"what'll  I  do  all  the  time  between  full-grown  and 
baby  size?  I  didn't  bring  anything  but  the  littlest 
clothes,  you  know." 

"Thet's  so,"  said  Rebecca,  thoughtfully.  Then, 
after  a  pause :  "I  don't  see  but  ye'll  hev  to  stay  abed, 
Phoebe,  till  we  get  to  th'  end,"  she  said,  sympathet 
ically. 

"There  it  is,"  said  Phcebe,  crossly.  "Gettin'  sent 
to  bed  a'ready — even  before  I  expected  it." 

"But  'tain't  that,  Phoebe,"  said  Rebecca,  with  great 
concern.  '1  ain't  sendin'  ye  to  bed — but — but — 
whatever  else  can  ye  do  with  a  man  in  the  house!" 

97 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Phoebe  replied,  with  a  toss  of  her  chin. 

She  crossed  the  room  and  held  out  her  hand  to 
Droop. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Droop,"  she  said. 

Surprised  at  this  sudden  demonstration  of  friend 
ship,  he  took  her  hand  and  tipped  his  head  to  one 
side  as  he  looked  into  her  face. 

"Next  time  you  see  me,  I  don't  suppose  you'll  know 
me,  I'll  be  so  little,"  she  said,  trying  to  laugh. 

"I — I  wish't  you'd  call  me  Cousin  Copernicus," 
he  said,  coaxingly. 

"Well,  p'raps  I  will  when  I  see  ye  again,"  she  re 
plied,  freeing  her  hand  with  a  slight  effort. 

Rebecca  retired  shortly  after  her  sister  and  Coper 
nicus  was  once  more  left  alone.  He  rubbed  his  hands 
slowly,  with  a  sense  of  satisfaction,  and  glanced  at 
the  date  dial. 

"July  2,  1892,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I'm  only  thir 
ty-four  years  old.  Don't  feel  any  older  than  that, 
either." 

He  walked  deliberately  to  the  shutters,  closed 
them  and  turned  on  the  electric  light.  Surrounded 
thus  by  the  wonted  conditions  of  night,  it  was  not 
long  before  he  began  to  yawn.  He  removed  his  coat 
and  shoes  and  lay  back  in  an  easy  chair  to  meditate 
at  ease.  He  faced  toward  the  pole  so  that  the  "side 
weight"  would  tend  to  press  him  gently  backward 
into  his  chair  and  therefore  not  annoy  him  by  calling 
for  constant  opposing  effort. 

He  soon  dozed  off  and  was  whisked  through  a  quick 
98 


DROOP'S  THEORY  IN  PRACTICE 

succession  of  fantastic  dreams.  Then  he  awoke  sud 
denly,  and  as  though  someone  had  spoken  to  him. 
Listening  intently,  he  only  heard  the  low  murmur 
of  the  machinery  below  and  the  ticking  of  the  many 
clocks  and  indicators  all  about  him. 

He  closed  his  eyes,  intending  to  take  up  that  last 
dream  where  he  had  been  interrupted.  He  recol 
lected  that  he  had  been  on  the  very  point  of  some 
delightful  consummation,  but  just  what  it  was  he 
could  not  recall. 

Sleep  evaded  him,  however.  His  mind  reverted 
to  the  all-important  question  of  the  recovered  years. 
He  began  to  plan  again. 

This  time  he  should  not  make  his  former  mistakes. 
No — he  would  not  only  make  immense  wealth 
promptly  with  the  great  inventions,  he  would  give 
up  liquor  forever.  It  would  be  so  easy  in  1876,  for 
he  had  never  taken  up  the  unfortunate  habit  until 
1888. 

Then — rich,  young,  sober,  he  would  seek  out  a 
charming,  rosy,  good-natured  girl — something  of  the 
type  of  Phoebe,  for  instance.  They  would  be  mar 
ried  and 

He  got  up  at  this  and  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was 
after  midnight.  He  looked  at  the  date  indicator. 
It  said  October  9,  1890. 

"Well,  come!"  he  thought.  "The  old  Panchron- 
icon  is  a  steady  vessel.  She's  keepin'  right  on." 

He  put  on  his  shoes  again,  for  something  made  him 
nervous  and  he  wished  to  walk  up  and  down. 

99 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

The  first  thing  he  did  after  his  shoes  were  donned 
was  to  gaze  at  himself  in  the  mirror. 

"Don't  look  any  younger,"  he  thought,  "but  I  feel 
so."  He  walked  across  the  room  once  or  twice. 

"Shucks!"  he  exclaimed.  "Couldn't  expect  to  look 
younger  in  these  old  duds,  an'  at  this  time  o'  night, 
too — tired  like  I  am." 

For  some  time  he  walked  up  and  down,  keeping 
his  eyes  resolutely  from  the  date  indicator.  Finally 
he  threw  himself  down  in  the  chair  again  and  closed 
his  eyes,  nervous  and  exhausted.  He  did  not  feel 
sleepy,  but  he  must  have  dozed,  for  the  next  time 
he  looked  at  the  clock  it  was  half-past  one. 

He  put  out  the  light  and  crossed  to  a  settle.  Here 
he  lay  at  full  length  courting  sleep.  When  he  awoke, 
he  thought,  refreshed  and  alert,  he  would  show  his 
youth  unmistakably. 

But  sleep  would  not  return.  He  tried  every  posi 
tion,  every  trick  for  propitiating  Morpheus.  All  in 
vain. 

At  length  he  rose  again  and  turned  on  the  light. 
It  was  two-fifteen.  This  time  he  could  not  resist 
looking  at  the  date  indicator. 

It  said  September  30,  1889. 

Again  he  looked  into  the  glass. 

"My,  but  I'm  nervous!"  he  thought  as  he  turned 
away,  disappointed.  "I  look  older  than  ever!" 

As  he  paced  the  floor  there  all  alone,  he  began  to 
doubt  for  the  first  time  the  success  of  his  plan. 

"It  must  work  right!"  he  said  aloud.  "Didn't  I 
100 


DROOP'S  THEORY  IN  PRACTICE 

go  back  five  weeks  with  that  future  man?    Didn't 
he " 

A  fearful  thought  struck  him.  Had  he  perhaps 
made  a  mistake?  Had  they  been  cutting  meridians 
the  wrong  way? 

But  no;  the  indicator  could  not  be  wrong,  and  that 
registered  a  constantly  earlier  date. 

"Ah,  I  know!"  he  suddenly  exclaimed.  "I'll  ask 
Cousin  Phrebe." 

He  reflected  a  moment.  Yes — the  idea  was  a  good 
one.  She  would  be  only  fifteen  years  old  by  this 
time,  and  must  certainly  have  changed  to  an  extent 
of  which  he  was  at  his  age  incapable.  Besides,  she 
had  been  asleep,  and  nervous  insomnia  could  not  be 
responsible  for  retarding  the  evidences  of  youth  in 
her  case.  His  agony  of  dread  lest  this  great  experi 
ment  fail  made  him  bold. 

He  walked  directly  to  Pho3be's  door  and  knocked 
— first  softly,  then  more  loudly. 

"Cousin  PlHfibe — Cousin  Phrebe,"  he  said. 

After  a  few  calls  and  knockings,  there  came  a 
sleepy  reply  from  within. 

"Well— what— who  is  it?" 

"It's  Cousin  Copernicus,"  he  said.  "Please  tell 
me.  Hev  ye  shrunk  any  yet?" 

"What — how?"  The  tones  were  very  sleepy  in 
deed. 

"Hev  ye  shrunk  any  yet?  Are  ye  growin'  littler 
in  there?  Oh,  please  feel  fer  the  footboard  with 
yer  toe!" 

101 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

He  waited  and  heard  a  rustling  as  of  someone 
moving  in  bed. 

"Did  ye  feel  the  footboard?"  he  asked. 

"Yes — kicked  it  good — now  let  me  sleep."  She 
was  ill-natured  with  much  drowsiness. 

Poor  Droop  staggered  away  from  the  door  as 
though  he  had  been  struck. 

All  had  failed,  then.  They  were  circling  uselessly. 
Those  inventions  would  never  be  his.  The  golden 
dreams  he  had  been  nursing — oh,  impossible !  It  was 
unbearable ! 

He  put  both  hands  to  his  head  and  walked  across 
the  room.  He  paused  half-consciously  before  a  small 
closet  partly  hidden  in  the  wall. 

With  an  instinctive  movement,  he  touched  a  spring 
and  the  door  slid  back.  He  drew  from  the  cupboard 
thus  revealed  two  bottles  and  a  glass  and  returned 
to  seat  himself  at  the  table. 

A  half  an  hour  later  the  Panchronicon,  circling 
in  the  outer  brightness  and  silence,  contained  three 
unconscious  travellers,  and  one  of  them  sat  with  his 
arms  flung  across  the  table  supporting  his  head,  and 
beside  him  an  empty  bottle. 


102 


CHAPTER   VI 


Rebecca  was  the  first  of  the  three  to  waken.  Over 
her  small  window  she  had  hung  a  black  shawl  to  keep 
out  the  light,  and  upon  this  screen  were  thrown  re 
current  flashes  of  sunlight. 

"Still  a-swingin',"  she  murmured.  "Wonder  how 
fur  back  we  be  now!" 

She  was  herself  surprised  at  the  eagerness  she  felt 
to  observe  at  last  the  results  of  their  extraordinary 
attempt. 

She  rose  quickly  and  was  very  soon  ready  to  leave 
her  room.  She  was  longing  to  see  Phoebe — Phcebe 
as  she  had  been  when  a  girl. 

Opening  her  door,  she  was  astonished  to  find  the 
lamps  of  the  main  room  aglow  and  to  see  Copernicus 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  asleep  with  his  head  on  the  table. 

As  she  stepped  out  of  her  own  room,  her  senses 
were  offended  by  the  odor  of  alcohol.  With  horror 
she  realized  that  rum,  the  spirit  of  all  the  sources  of 
evil,  had  found  its  way  into  their  abode. 

She  entertained  so  violent  a  repugnance  for  liquors 
and  for  men  under  their  influence  that  she  could  not 
bring  herself  to  approach  Copernicus. 

"He's  gone  an'  got  drunk  again,"  she  muttered, 
103 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

glaring  with  helpless  anger  at  the  bottles  and  then 
at  him. 

"Mister  Droop!  Copernicus  Droop!"  she  cried  in 
a  high,  sharp  voice. 

There  was  no  reply. 

She  looked  about  her  for  something  to  prod  him 
with.  There  was  an  arm-chair  on  casters  beside  her 
door.  She  drew  this  to  her  and  pushed  it  with  all 
her  might  toward  the  unconscious  man. 

The  chair  struck  violently  against  Droop's  seat, 
and  even  caused  his  body  to  sway  slightly,  but  he 
still  slept  and  gave  no  sign. 

"That  settles  it!"  she  exclaimed,  with  mingled  dis 
gust  and  alarm  in  her  face. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

It  was  Phoebe  who  called. 

"It's  me,"  said  Rebecca.     "Can  I  come  in?" 

"Yes." 

Rebecca  walked  into  Phoebe's  room,  which  she 
found  darkened  like  her  own.  Her  sister  was  in  bed. 

"What  ever  happened  to  you?"  Phoebe  asked. 
"Sounded  as  though  ye'd  fallen  down  or  somethin'." 

Rebecca  stood  stiffly  with  her  back  to  the  closed 
door,  her  hands  folded  before  her. 

"Copernicus  Droop  is  tight!  Dead  drunk!"  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  shaking  voice. 

"Drunk!"  cried  Phoebe.  "Lands  sakes!— an'— " 
She  looked  about  her  with  alarm.  "Then  what's  hap 
pened  to  the  machine?"  she  asked. 

"Whirlin',  whirlin',  same  as  ever!  Cuttin'  merid- 
104 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME 

ians  or  sausage  meat  fer  all  I  care.  I  jest  wish  to 
goodness  an'  all  creation  I'd  never  ben  sech  a  plumb 
born  nateral  fool  as  to — oh,  wouldn't  I  like  to  jest 
shake  that  man!"  she  broke  out,  letting  her  anger 
gain  the  upper  hand. 

Then  Phoebe  recalled  their  situation  and  their  ex 
pectations  of  the  night  before. 

"Why,  then  I  ought  to  be  gettin'  little  pretty  fast," 
she  said,  feeling  her  arms.  "I  don't  see  's  I've  shrunk 
a  mite,  hev  I?" 

"No  more'n  I  hev!"  Rebecca  exclaimed,  hotly. 
"Nor  you  won't,  nuther.  Ye  might  jest's  well  make 
up  yer  mind  to  it  thet  the  whole  business  is  foolish 
folderols.  We're  a  nice  couple  o'  geese,  we  are,  to 
come  out  here  to  play  'Here  we  go  round  the  mul 
berry  bush'  with  the  North  Pole — an'  all  along  of 
a  shif'less,  notorious  slave  o'  rum!" 

She  plumped  herself  into  a  chair  and  glared  at 
the  darkened  window  as  though  fascinated  by  those 
ever-returning  flashes  of  sunlight. 

"Well — well — well!"  murmured  Phcebe. 

She  was  much  disappointed,  and  yet  somehow  she 
could  not  avoid  a  certain  pleasure  in  the  thought 
that  at  least  there  was  no  fear  of  a  return  to  child 
hood. 

"But  what're  we  goin'  to  do?"  she  asked  at  length. 
"If  Mr.  Droop's  so  tight  he  can't  manage  the  ma 
chine,  what'll  we  do.  Here  we  are  tied  up  to  the 
North  Pole " 

"Oh,  drat  the  old  Panchronicon!"  cried  Rebecca. 
105 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Then  rising  in  her  wrath,  she  continued  with  ener 
gy  :  "The's  one  thing  I'm  goin'  to  do  right  this  blessed 
minute.  I'm  goin'  to  draw  a  hull  bucket  o'  cold 
water  an'  throw  it  over  that  mis' able  critter  in  there ! 
Think  o'  him  sleepin'  on  the  table — the  table  as  we 
eat  our  victuals  on!" 

"JSTo — no.  Don't  try  to  wake  him  up  first!"  cried 
Phoebe.  "Let's  have  breakfast — we  can  have  it  in 
the  kitchen — an'  then  you  can  douse  him  afterward. 
Just  think  of  the  wipin'  an'  cleanin'  we'll  have  to  do 
after  it.  We'll  be  starved  if  we  wait  breakfast  for 
all  that  ruction!" 

Rebecca  reflected  a  moment.    Then: 

"I  guess  ye're  right,  Phoebe,"  she  said.  "My,  won't 
that  carpet  look  a  sight!  I'll  go  right  an'  fix  up  some- 
thin'  to  eat,  though  goodness  knows,  I'm  not  hun 
gry." 

She  left  Phoebe  to  dress  and  made  a  wide  circuit 
to  avoid  even  approaching  the  table  on  her  way  to 
the  kitchen.  Not  long  afterward  she  was  followed 
by  her  sister,  who  took  a  similar  roundabout  path, 
for  Phoebe  was  quite  as  much  in  horror  of  drink  and 
drinkers  as  Rebecca. 

She  glanced  at  the  date  indicator  as  she  passed  it. 

"My  sakes!"  she  said,  as  she  entered  the  kitchen, 
"it's  March  25,  1887.  Why,  then's  the  time  that  I 
had  the  measles  so  bad.  Don't  you  remember  when 
I  was  thirteen  years  old  an'  Dr. " 

Rebecca  broke  in  with  a  snort. 

"Eighty-seven  grandmothers!"  she  exclaimed. 
106 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME 

"Don't  you  get  to  frettin'  'bout  gettin'  the  measles 
or  anything  else,  Phoebe — only  sof'nin'  of  the  brain 
—I  guess  we've  both  got  that  right  bad!" 

"I  don't  know  'bout  that,"  Phoebe  replied,  as  she 
began  to  set  the  small  table  for  two.  "I  believe  we're 
gettin'  back,  after  all,  Rebecca.  The's  one  thing  sure. 
Everybody  knows  that  ye  lose  a  day  every  time  you 
go  round  the  world  once  from  east  to  west,  an'  I'm 
sure  we've  gone  round  often  enough  to  lose  years. 
I  believe  that  indicator's  all  right." 

"We've  not  ben  goin'  round  the  world,  though," 
Rebecca  replied.  "That's  the  p'int.  This  old  iron 
clothes-pole  out  here  ain't  the  hull  world,  I  can  tell 
ye!" 

"Well,  but  all  the  meridians " 

"Oh,  bother  yer  meridians!  I  ain't  seen  one  o' 
the  things  yet — nor  you  hevn't,  either,  Phoebe 
Wise!" 

Phoebe  was  not  convinced.  It  seemed  not  at  all 
unreasonable,  after  all,  that  they  should  lose  time 
without  undergoing  any  physical  change.  She  con 
cluded  to  argue  the  matter  no  further,  however. 

Their  meal  was  eaten  in  silence.  As  they  rose  to 
clear  the  table,  Phoebe  said: 

"Th'  ain't  any  use  of  goin'  back  to  1876  now,  is 
there,  Rebecca.  Though  I  do  s'pose  it  won't  make 
any  difference  to  Mr.  Droop.  He  can  bring  out  his 
inventions  an' " 

"Not  with  my  money,  or  Joe  Chandler's,  either," 
Rebecca  declared,  firmly.  "Not  as  Joe'd  ask  me  to 

107 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

marry  him  now.    He'd  as  soon  think  o'  marryin'  his 
grandmother." 

"Then  what's  the  use  o'  goin'  back  any  further. 
We  might  's  well  stop  the  machine  right  now,  so  's 
not  to  have  so  many  more  turns  to  wind  up  again." 

"Fiddlesticks !"  Rebecca  exclaimed.  "Don't  you 
fret  about  that!  Don't  I  tell  ye  it's  folderol! 
Tell  ye  what  ye  can  do,  though.  Open  them  shut 
ters  out  there  an'  let  in  some  sunlight.  I've  inore'n 
half  a  mind  to  open  a  window,  too.  Thet  smell  o' 
rum  in  there  makes  me  sick." 

"We'd  freeze  to  death  in  a  minute  if  we  tried  it," 
said  Phoebe,  as  she  entered  the  main  room. 

She  went  to  each  of  the  four  windows  and  opened 
all  the  shutters,  avoiding  in  the  meantime  even  a 
glance  at  the  middle  of  the  room.  She  did  not  for 
get  the  date  indicator,  however. 

"Merry  Christmas!"  she  cried,  with  a  little  laugh. 
"It's  Christmas-day,  1886,  Rebecca." 

The  engine-room  door  was  open.  Perhaps  it  was 
a  sign  of  her  returning  youth,  but  the  fact  is  her 
fingers  itched  to  get  at  those  bright,  tempting  brass 
and  steel  handles.  Droop  had  explained  their  uses 
and  she  felt  sure  she  could  manage  the  machinery. 
What  a  delightful  thing  it  would  be  to  feel  the  Pan- 
chronicon  obeying  her  hand ! 

"Really,  Rebecca,"  she  exclaimed,  "if  we're  not 
going  back  to  '76  after  all,  I  think  it's  a  dreadful 
waste  of  time  for  us  to  be  throwin'  away  six  months 
every  hour  this  way." 

108 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME 

"  'Twon't  be  long,"  Rebecca  replied,  as  she  turned 
the  hot  water  into  her  dishpan.  "You  come  in  here 
an'  help  wash  these  dishes,  an'  ef  I  don't  soon  wake 
up  that  mis'able — "  She  did  not  trust  herself  fur 
ther,  but  tightly  compressed  her  lips  and  confined 
her  rising  choler. 

"Why,  Rebecca  Wise,"  said  Phoebe,  "you  know 
it  will  be  hours  before  that  man's  got  sense  enough 
to  run  this  machine.  I'm  goin'  to  stop  it  myself, 
right  now." 

Rebecca  had  just  taken  a  hot  plate  from  her  pan, 
but  she  paused  ere  setting  it  down,  alarmed  at  Phoe 
be's  temerity. 

"Don't  you  dast  to  dream  o'  sech  a  thing,  Phoebe!" 
she  cried,  with  frightened  earnestness. 

But  Phoebe  was  confident,  and  crossed  the  thresh 
old  with  a  little  laugh. 

"Why,  Rebecca,  what  you  scared  of?"  she  said. 
"It's  just  as  easy  as  that — see!" 

She  pulled  the  starting  lever. 

The  next  instant  found  her  flying  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  main  room  following  Droop,  the  table, 
and  all  the  movable  furniture.  In  the  kitchen  there 
was  a  wild  scream  and  a  crash  of  crockery  as  Rebecca 
was  thrown  against  the  rear  partition. 

Phoebe  had  pulled  the  lever  the  wrong  way  and 
the  Panchronicon  was  swiftly  reaching  full  speed. 

"Heavens  and  airth!"  cried  Rebecca. 

"Whatever  in  gracious — "  began  the  dismayed 
Phoebe. 

109 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

She  broke  off  in  renewed  terror  as  she  found  her 
self  pushed  by  an  irresistible  force  to  the  side  of  the 
room. 

"Here — here!"  she  heard  from  the  kitchen. 
"What's  this  a-pullin'?  Land  o'  promise,  Phoebe, 
come  quick!  I've  got  a  stroke!" 

"I  can't  come !"  wailed  Phoebe.  "I'm  jammed  tight 
up  against  the  wall.  It's  as  though  I  was  nailed 
to  it." 

"Oh,  why — why  did  ye  touch  that  machinery!" 
cried  Rebecca,  and  then  said  no  more. 

The  speed  indicator  pointed  to  one  hundred  and 
seventy-five  miles  an  hour.  They  were  making  one 
revolution  around  the  pole  each  second — and  they 
were  helpless. 

As  she  found  herself  pushed  outward  by  the  im 
mensely  increased  centrifugal  force,  Phoebe  found  it 
possible  to  seat  herself  upon  one  of  the  settles,  and 
she  now  sat  with  her  back  pressed  firmly  against  the 
south  wall  of  the  room,  only  able  by  a  strong  effort 
to  raise  her  head. 

She  turned  to  the  right  and  found  that  Droop  had 
found  a  couch  on  the  floor  under  the  table  and  chairs 
at  the  rear  of  the  room,  also  against  the  south  wall. 

In  the  kitchen  Rebecca  had  crouched  down  as  she 
found  herself  forced  outward,  and  she  now  sat  dazed 
on  the  kitchen  floor  surrounded  by  the  fragments 
of  their  breakfast  all  glued  to  the  wall  as  tightly 
as  herself. 

"Oh,  dear — oh,  dear!"  she  cried,  closing  her  eyes. 
110 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME 

"Copernicus  Droop  said  that  side  weight  would  be 
terrible  if  we  travelled  too  fast.  Why,  I'm  so  heavy 
sideways  I  feel  like  as  if  I  weighed  497|  pounds  like 
that  fat  woman  in  the  circus  down  to  Keene." 

"So  do  I,"  Phoebe  said,  "only  I'm  so  dizzy,  too,  I 
can  hardly  think." 

"Shet  your  eyes,  like  me,"  said  Rebecca. 

"I  would  only  I  can't  keep  'em  off  the  North  Pole 
there,"  said  Phoebe,  as  she  gazed  fascinated  through 
the  north  window  opposite. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  the  child!"  Rebecca 
exclaimed,  in  alarm.  "Air  ye  struck  silly,  Phoebe?" 

"No,  but  I  guess  you'd  want  to  watch  it  too  if  you 
could  see  that  ring  we're  tied  to  spinnin'  round  right 
close  to  the  top  of  the  pole.  There — there !"  she  con 
tinued,  shrilly.  "It'll  fly  right  off  in  another  minute ! 
There!  Oh,  dear!" 

Their  attachment  did  indeed  appear  precarious. 
The  increased  speed  acting  through  the  inclined  aero 
plane  had  caused  the  vessel  to  rise  sharply,  and  the 
rope  had  raised  the  ring  by  which  it  was  attached 
to  the  pole  until  it  came  in  contact  with  the  steel 
ball  at  the  top,  when  it  could  rise  no  farther.  Here 
the  iron  ring  was  grinding  against  and  under  the 
retaining  ball  which  alone  prevented  its  slipping  off 
the  top  of  the  pole. 

"I  don't  see's  we'd  be  any  wuss  off  ef  we  did  come 
loose,"  said  Rebecca,  with  eyes  still  closed.  "At  least 
we  wouldn't  be  gummed  here  ez  tight's  if  the  walls 
was  fly-paper." 

Ill 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"No,  but  we'd  fly  off  at  a  tangent  into  infinite 
space,  Rebecca  Wise,"  Phoebe  said,  sharply. 

"Where's  that?"  asked  her  sister.  "I'll  engage 
'tain't  any  wuss  place  than  the  North  Pole." 

"Why,  it's  off  into  the  ether.  There  isn't  any 
air  there  or  anythin'.  An'  they  say  it's  fifty  times 
colder  than  the  North  Pole." 

"Who's  ben  there?" 

"Why,  nobody — "  Phoebe  began. 

"Then  let's  drop  it,"  snapped  Rebecca.  "Dr.  Kane 
said  the'  was  an  open  sea  at  the  North  Pole — an' 
I'm  sick  o'  bein'  told  about  places  nobody's  ever  ben 
to  before." 

Phoebe  was  somewhat  offended  at  this  and  there 
was  a  long  silence,  during  which  she  became  more 
reassured  touching  the  danger  of  breaking  away 
from  the  Pole.  Soon  she,  too,  was  able  to  shut 
her  eyes. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  a  meek  voice  from  un 
der  the  table. 

"Would  you  mind  settin'  off  my  chist?"  said  Droop. 

There  was  no  answer  and  he  opened  his  eyes.  His 
bewilderment  and  surprise  were  intense  when  he  dis 
covered  his  situation. 

Shutting  his  eyes  again,  he  remarked: 

"What  you  flashin'  that  bright  light  in  my  eyes 
so  often  for?" 

Phoebe  gave  vent  to  a  gentle  sniff  of  contempt. 

"My — my — my!"  Droop  continued,  in  meek 
amazement.  "I  s'pose  I  must  hev  taken  two  whole 

112 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME 

bottles.  I  never,  never  felt  so  heavy's  this  before! 
What's  the  old  Pan  lyin'  on  it's  side  fer?" 

"  'Tain't  on  its  side,"  snapped  Phoebe.  "The  old 
thing's  run  away,  Copernicus  Droop,  an'  it's  all  your 
fault."  There  was  a  quiver  in  her  voice. 

"Run  away!"  said  Droop,  opening  his  eyes  again. 
"Where  to?" 

"Nowheres — jest  whirlin'.  Only  it's  goin'  a  mile 
a  second,  I  do  believe — an'  it'll  fly  off  the  pole  soon 
— an' — an'  we'll  all  be  killed!"  she  cried,  bursting 
into  tears. 

She  dragged  her  hands  with  great  difficulty  to  her 
face  against  which  she  found  them  pressed  with  con 
siderable  energy.  Crying  under  these  circumstances 
was  so  very  unusual  and  uncomfortable  that  she  soon 
gave  it  up. 

"Oh,  I  see!  It's  the  side  weight  holds  me  here. 
Where  are  you?" 

There  was  no  reply,  so  he  turned  his  head  and 
eyes  this  way  and  that  until  at  length  he  spied  Phoebe 
on  the  settle,  farther  forward. 

"Am  I  under  the  table  ?"  he  said.  "Where's  Cousin 
Rebecca?  Was  she  pressed  out  through  the  wall?" 

"I'm  out  here  in  the  kitchen,  Copernicus  Droop," 
she  cried.  "I  wish  to  goodness  you'd  ben  pressed  in 
through  the  walls  of  the  lock-up  'fore  ever  ye  brought 
me'n  Phoebe  into  this  mess.  Ef  you're  a  man  or 
half  one,  you'll  go  and  stop  this  pesky  old  Panchron- 
icle  an'  give  us  a  chance  to  move." 

"How  can  I  go?"  he  cried,  peevishly.  "What  the 
113 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

lands  sakes  did  you  go  an'  make  the  machine  run 
away  for?  Couldn't  ye  leave  the  machinery  alone?" 

"I  didn't  touch  your  old  machine!"  cried  Rebecca. 
"Phoebe  thought  we'd  be  twisted  back  of  our  first 
birthday  ef  the  thing  wasn't  stopped,  an'  she  pulled 
the  handle  the  wrong  way,  that's  all!" 

Droop  rolled  his  eyes  about  eagerly  for  a  glimpse 
of  the  date  indicator. 

"What's  the  date,  Cousin  Phoebe?"  he  asked. 

"April  4,  1884 — no,  April  3d— 2d — oh,  dear,  it's 
goin'  back  so  fast  I  can't  tell  ye  the  truth  about  it!" 

"Early  in  1884,"  Droop  repeated,  in  awe-struck 
accents.  "An'  we're  a-whirlin'  off  one  day  every 
second — just  about  one  year  in  six  minutes.  Great 
Criminy  crickets!  When  was  you  born,  Cousin 
Phoebe?" 

"Second  of  April,  1874." 

"Ten  years.  One  year  in  six  minutes — gives  ye 
jest  one  hour  to  live.  Then  you'll  go  out — bang! — 
like  a  candle.  I'll  go  next,  and  Cousin  Rebecca 
last." 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Rebecca,  angrily,  "ef  I  can  hev 
the  pleasure  o'  bein'  rid  o'  you,  Copernicus  Droop, 
it'll  be  cheap  at  the  price — but  the's  no  sech  luck. 
Ef  you  think  ye  can  fool  us  any  more  with  yer  twad 
dle  'bout  cuttin'  meridians,  ye're  mistaken — that's 
all  I  can  say." 

Droop  was  making  desperate  efforts  to  climb  along 
the  floor  and  reach  the  engine-room,  but,  although 
by  dint  of  gigantic  struggles  he  managed  to  make 

114 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME 

his  way  a  few  feet,  he  was  then  obliged  to  pause  for 
breath,  whereupon  he  slid  gently  and  ignominiously 
back  to  his  nook  under  the  table. 

Here  he  found  himself  in  contact  with  a  corked 
bottle.  He  looked  at  it  and  felt  comforted.  At  least 
he  had  access  to  forgetfulness  whenever  he  pleased 
to  seek  it. 

The  two  women  found  it  wisest  to  lie  quiet  and 
speak  but  little.  The  combined  rotary  movement 
and  sense  of  weight  were  nervously  disturbing,  and 
for  a  long  time  no  one  of  the  three  spoke.  Only  once 
in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  did  Phoebe  address 
Droop. 

"Whatever  will  be  the  end  o'  this?"  she  said. 

"Why,  we'll  keep  on  whirlin'  till  the  power  gives 
out,"  he  replied.  "Ye  hevn't  much  time  to  live  now, 
hev  ye?" 

With  a  throb  of  fear  felt  for  the  first  time,  Phoebe 
looked  at  the  indicator. 

"It's  May,  1874,"  she  said. 

"Jest  a  month — thirty  seconds,"  he  said,  sadly. 

"Copernicus  Droop,  do  you  mean  it?"  screamed 
Rebecca  from  the  kitchen. 

"Unless  the  power  gives  out  before  then,"  he  re 
plied.  "I  don't  suppose  ye  want  to  make  yer  will, 
do  ye?" 

"Stuff!"  said  Phoebe,  bravely,  but  her  gaze  was 
fixed  anxiously  on  the  indicator,  now  fast  approach 
ing  the  2d  of  April. 

"Oh,  dear!  'F  I  could  only  see  ye,  Phoebe!"  cried 
115 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Rebecca.  "I  know  he's  a  mis'able  deceivin'  man,  but 
if — if — oh,  Phoebe,  can't  ye  holler!" 

"It's  April  8th— good-bye!"  Phoebe  said,  faintly. 

"Phoebe— Phoebe!" 

"Hurray — hurray!  It's  March  31st,  and  here  I 
am!" 

Phoebe  tried  to  clap  her  hands,  but  the  effort  was 
in  vain. 

"I  allus  said  it  was  folderol,"  said  Rebecca,  sternly. 
"Oh,  but  I'd  like  to  throw  somethin'  at  that  Coper 
nicus  Droop!" 

"Come  to  think  of  it,"  said  Droop,  "that  future 
man  must  hev  come  back  long,  long  before  his  birth- 
day." 

"Why  didn't  ye  say  that  sooner?"  cried  Rebecca. 

There  was  no  further  conversation  until  long  after 
ward,  when  Rebecca  suddenly  remarked: 

"Aren't  ye  hungry,  Phoebe?" 

"Why,  it's  gettin'  along  to  dinner-time,  ain't  it?" 
she  replied.  "I  don't  see,  though,  how  I'm  to  get 
any  victuals,  do  you?" 

"Why,  the's  bread  an'  other  scraps  slammed  up 
against  the  wall  here  all  round  me,"  said  Rebecca. 
"Couldn't  we  fix  some  way  to  get  some  of  'em  to  ye?" 

Phoebe  looked  anxiously  about  and  finally  caught 
sight  of  her  sister's  knitting  work  near  at  hand.  It 
proved  to  be  just  within  reach,  and  by  slow  degrees 
and  much  effort  she  brought  it  into  her  lap  within 
easy  reach  of  both  her  heavy  hands. 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  said,  "I  feel  's  if  both  my  arms 
116 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME 

had  turned  to  lead.  Here,  Rebecca,  I'm  goin'  to  see 
if  I  can  roll  your  ball  o'  yarn  along  the  floor  through 
the  kitchen  door.  The  centrifugal  force  will  bring 
it  to  you.  Then  you  can  cut  the  yarn  an'  tie  some- 
thin'  on  the  end  for  me  to  eat  an'  I'll  haul  it  back 
through  the  door." 

"That's  jest  the  thing,  Phoebe.  Go  on — I'm 
ready." 

The  theory  seemed  excellent,  as  Rebecca  had  fort 
unately  been  working  with  a  very  tough  flaxen  yarn ; 
but  so  great  was  the  apparent  weight  of  Phoebe's 
arms  that  it  was  only  after  a  long  series  of  trials  end 
ing  in  failures  that  she  finally  succeeded. 

"I've  got  it!"  cried  Rebecca,  triumphantly.  "Now, 
then,  I've  got  a  slice  of  ham  and  two  slices  of 
bread " 

"Don't  send  ham,"  said  Phoebe.  "I'd  be  sure  to 
eat  it  if  I  had  it,  an'  'twould  make  me  fearful  dry. 
I'm  sure  I  don't  see  how  I'm  to  get  any  water  in 
here." 

"Thet's  so,"  said  Rebecca.  "Well,  here's  an  apple 
and  two  slices  of  bread." 

"Are  you  keepin'  enough  for  yourself,  Rebecca?" 

"Enough  an'  to  spare,"  she  replied.  "Now,  then — 
all  ready!  Pull  'em  along!" 

Phoebe  obeyed  and  soon  had  secured  possession  of 
the  frugal  meal  which  Rebecca  had  been  able  to  con 
vey  to  her. 

She  offered  a  portion  of  her  ration  to  Droop,  but 
he  declined  it,  saying  he  had  no  appetite.  He  had 

117 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

lapsed  into  a  kind  of  waking  reverie  and  scarce  knew 
what  was  going  on  about  him. 

The  two  women  also  were  somewhat  stupefied  by 
the  continual  rotation  and  their  enforced  immobility. 
They  spoke  but  seldom  and  must  have  dozed  fre 
quently,  for  Phrebe  was  much  surprised  to  find,  on 
looking  at  the  clock,  that  it  was  half-past  five. 

She  glanced  at  the  date  indicator. 

"Why,  Rebecca!"  she  cried.  "Here  'tis  Novem 
ber,  1804!" 

"My  land!"  cried  Rebecca,  forgetting  her  scepti 
cism.  "What  do  you  s'pose  they're  doin'  in  New 
Hampshire  now,  Phcebe?" 

"It's  'bout  election  time,  Rebecca.  They're  prob 
ably  votin'  for  Adams  or  Madison  or  somebody  like 
that." 

"My  stars!"  said  Rebecca.  "What  ever  shall  we 
do  ef  this  old  machine  goes  on  back  of  the  Revolu 
tion!  I  should  hate  to  go  back  an'  worry  through 
all  them  terrible  times." 

"We'll  be  lucky  if  we  stop  there,"  said  Pho2be. 
"I  only  hope  to  gracious  we  won't  go  back  to  Colum 
bus  or  King  Alfred." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not!"  said  Rebecca,  with  a  shudder. 
"Folks  ud  think  we  was  crazy  to  be  talkin'  'bout 
America  then." 

Phoebe  tried  to  toss  her  head. 

"If  'twas  in  Alfred's  time,"  she  said,  "they  couldn't 
understand  what  we  was  talkin'  about." 

"Phcebe  Wise!    What  do  you  mean?" 
118 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME 

"I  mean  just  that.  There  wasn't  any  English  lan 
guage  then.  Besides — who's  to  say  the  old  thing 
won't  whirl  us  back  to  the  days  of  the  Greeks  an' 
Romans?  We  could  see  Socrates  and  Pericles  and 
Croesus  and " 

"Oh,  I'd  love  to  see  Croesus!"  Rebecca  broke  in. 
"He's  the  richest  man  that  ever  lived !" 

"Yes — and  perhaps  we'll  go  back  of  then  and  see 
Abraham  and  Noah." 

"Ef  we  could  see  Noah,  'twould  be  worth  while," 
said  Rebecca.  "Joe  Forrest  said  he  didn't  believe 
about  the  flood.  He  said  Noah  couldn't  hev  packed 
all  them  animals  in  tight  enough  to  hev  got  'em  all 
in  the  Ark.  I'd  like  mighty  well  if  I  could  ask  Noah 
himself  'bout  it." 

"He  couldn't  understand  ye,"  said  Phoebe.  "All 
he  spoke  was  Hebrew,  ye  know." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Rebecca.  Then,  after  a  pause: 
"S'pose  we  went  back  to  the  tower  of  Babel.  Couldn't 
we  find  the  folks  that  was  struck  with  the  English 
language  an'  get  one  of  'em  to  go  back  an'  speak  to 
Noah?" 

"What  good  would  that  do?  If  he  was  struck  with 
English  he  wouldn't  know  Hebrew  any  more.  That's 
what  made —  But  there!"  she  exclaimed,  "what  nin 
nies  we  are!" 

There  was  a  long  pause.  After  many  minutes, 
Rebecca  asked  one  more  question. 

"Do  you  s'pose  the  flood  would  come  up  as  fur's 
this,  Phoebe?" 

119 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"I  don't  know,  Rebecca.  The  Bible  says  the  whole 
earth,  you  know." 

And  so  passed  the  slow  hours.  When  they  were  not 
dozing  they  were  either  nibbling  frugally  the  scant 
fare  in  reach  or  conversing  by  short  snatches  at  long 
intervals. 

For  thirty  hours  had  they  thus  whirled  ceaselessly 
around  that  circle,  when  Phrebe,  glancing  through 
the  window  at  the  ring  to  which  their  rope  was  at 
tached,  noticed  that  its  constant  rubbing  against  the 
ball  at  the  top  of  the  pole  had  worn  it  nearly  through. 

"My  goodness,  Rebecca!"  she  cried.  "I  believe 
we're  goin'  off  at  a  tangent  in  a  minute." 

"What?    How?" 

"The  ring  on  the  pole  is  nigh  worn  out.  I  believe 
it'll  break  in  a  minute." 

"If  it  breaks  we'll  move  straight  an'  get  rid  o'  this 
side  weight,  won't  we?" 

"Yes — but  goodness  only  knows  where  we'll  fly 
to." 

"Why — ain't  Mr.  Droop  there?  If  the  side  weight 
goes,  he  can  get  into  the  engine-room  an'  let  us  down 
easy." 

"That's  so!"  cried  Phrebe.  "Oh,  won't  it  be  grand 
to  stand  still  a  minute  after  all  this  traipsin'  around 
and  around!  Mr.  Droop,"  she  continued,  "do  you 
hear?  You'd  better  be  gettin'  ready  to  take  hold 
an'  stop  the  Panchronicon,  'cause  we're  goin'  to  break 
loose  in  half  no  time." 

There  was  no  reply.  Nor  could  any  calling  or 
120 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  THE  SANDS  OF  TIME 

pleading  elicit  an  answer.  Droop  had  yielded  to  his 
thirst  and  was  again  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  un- 
regenerate. 

"Oh,  Rebecca,  what —    Oh — oo — oo!" 

There  was  a  loud  scream  from  both  the  sisters  as 
the  iron  ring,  worn  through  by  long  rubbing,  finally 
snapped  asunder. 

The  tremendous  pressure  was  suddenly  lifted,  and 
the  two  women  were  free. 

With  a  single  impulse,  they  flew  toward  the  kitchen 
door  and  fell  into  each  other's  arms. 

The  Panchronicon  had  gone  off  at  a  tangent  at 
last! 

"Oh,  Rebecca — Rebecca!"  cried  Phoebe,  in  tears. 
"I  was  afraid  I'd  never  see  you  again!" 

Rebecca  cried  a  little  too,  and  patted  her  sister's 
shoulder  in  silence  a  moment. 

"There,  deary!"  she  said,  after  awhile.  "Now  let's 
set  down  an'  hev  a  good  cup  o'  tea.  Then  we  can  go 
to  bed  comfortable." 

"But,  Rebecca,"  said  Phoebe,  stepping  back  and 
wiping  her  eyes,  "what  shall  we  do  about  the  Pan 
chronicon?  We're  jest  makin'  fer  Infinite  Space,  or 
somewheres,  as  fast  as  we  can  go." 

"Can't  help  it,  Phoebe.  Ye  sha'n't  touch  a  thing 
in  that  engine-room  this  day — not  while  I'm  here. 
Ye  might  blow  us  up  the  nex'  time.  No — I  guess 
we'll  jest  hev  to  trust  in  the  Lord.  He  brought  us 
into  this  pickle,  an'  it's  fer  Him  to  see  us  out  of  it." 

With  this  comforting  reflection  the  two  sisters 
121 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

brewed  a  pot  of  tea,  and  after  partaking  of  the  re 
freshing  decoction,  went  to  their  respective  beds. 

"I  declare,  I'm  dog  tired !"  said  Eebecca. 

"So'm  I,"  said  Phcebe. 

Those  were  their  last  words  for  many  hours. 


122 


CHAPTER   VII 

NEW  TIES   AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

How  long  they  slept  after  their  extraordinary  ex 
perience  with  the  runaway  air-ship  neither  Rebecca 
nor  Phoebe  ever  knew;  but  when  they  awoke  all  was 
still,  and  it  was  evidently  dark  outside,  for  no  ray 
of  light  found  its  way  past  the  hangings  they  had 
placed  over  their  windows. 

There  was  something  uncanny  in  the  total  silence. 
Even  the  noise  of  the  machinery  was  stilled,  and  the 
two  sisters  dressed  together  in  Rebecca's  room  for 
company's  sake. 

"Do  you  suppose  we've  arrived  in  Infinite  Space 
yet?"  Rebecca  asked. 

"It's  still  enough  fer  it,"  Phoebe  replied,  in  a  low 
voice.  "But  I  don't  hear  the  Panchronicon's  machin 
ery  any  more.  It  must  have  run  down  entirely, 
wherever  we  are." 

At  that  moment  there  was  borne  faintly  to  their 
ears  the  distant  crowing  of  a  cock. 

"Well,  there!"  said  Rebecca,  with  an  expression 
of  immense  relief,  "I  don't  believe  the's  any  hens 
an'  roosters  in  Infinite  Space,  is  the'?" 

Phoebe  laughed  and  shook  her  head  as  she  ran  to 
123 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

the  window.  She  drew  aside  the  shawl  hanging  be 
fore  the  glass  and  peered  out. 

The  first  gleams  of  dawn  were  dispelling  the  night, 
and  against  a  dark  gray  sky  she  saw  the  branches  of 
thickly  crowding  trees. 

Dropping  the  shawl,  she  turned  eagerly  to  her  sis 
ter. 

"Rebecca  Wise!"  she  exclaimed.  "As  sure  as 
you're  alive,  we're  back  safe  on  the  ground  again. 
We're  in  the  woods." 

"Mos'  likely  Putnam's  wood  lot,"  said  Rebecca, 
with  great  satisfaction  as  she  finally  adjusted  her 
cameo  brooch.  "Gracious!  Won't  I  be  glad  to  see 
all  the  folks  again!" 

She  pushed  open  her  door  and,  followed  by  Phoebe, 
entered  the  main  room.  Here  all  was  gloom,  but 
they  could  hear  Droop's  breathing,  and  knew  that  he 
was  still  sleeping  under  the  table  in  the  corner. 

"For  the  lands  sakes!  Let's  get  out  in  the  fresh 
air,"  Rebecca  exclaimed  as  she  groped  her  way  toward 
the  stairs.  "You  keep  a-holt  o'  me,  Phoebe.  That's 
right.  We'll  get  out  o'  here  an'  make  rabbit  tracks 
fer  home,  I  tell  ye.  We  can  come  back  later  for  our 
duds  when  that  mis'able  specimen  is  sober  fer  awhile 
again." 

Slowly  the  two  made  their  way  down  the  winding 
stairs  to  the  lower  hall,  where,  after  much  fumbling, 
they  found  the  door  handle  and  lock. 

As  they  emerged  from  the  prison  that  had  so  long 
confined  them,  a  cool  morning  zephyr  swept  their 

124 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

faces,  bringing  with  it  once  more  the  well-known 
voice  of  distant  chanticleer. 

They  walked  across  the  springing  turf  a  few  yards 
and  were  then  able  to  make  out  the  looming  black 
mass  of  some  building  beyond  the  end  of  the  air-ship. 

"Goodness!"  Rebecca  whispered.  "This  ain't  Pel- 
tonville,  Phrebe.  There  ain't  a  house  in  the  town 
as  high  as  that,  'less  it's  the  meetin'-house,  an'  'tain't 
the  right  shape  fer  that." 

They  advanced  stealthily  toward  the  newly  dis 
covered  building,  in  which  not  a  single  light  was  to 
be  seen. 

"In  good  sooth,"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  putting  one 
hand  on  her  sister's  arm,  "it  hath  an  air  of  witch 
craft!  Dost  not  feel  cold  chills  in  thee,  Rebecca?" 

Rebecca  stopped  short,  stiff  with  amazement. 

"What's  come  over  ye?"  she  asked,  trying  to  peer 
into  her  sister's  face.  "Whatever  makes  ye  talk  like 
that,  child?" 

Phrebe  laughed  nervously  and,  taking  her  sister's 
arm,  pressed  close  up  to  her. 

"I  don't  know,  dear.  Did  I  speak  funny?"  she 
asked. 

"Why  you  know  you  did.  What's  the  use  o'  tryin' 
to  scare  a  body  with  gibberish?  This  place  is  creepy 
'nough  now." 

As  she  spoke,  they  reached  the  door  of  the  strange 
building.  They  could  see  that  it  stood  open,  and 
even  as  they  paused  near  the  threshold  another  puff 
of  air  passed  them,  and  they  heard  a  door  squeak 
on  its  rusty  hinges. 

125 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

They  stood  and  listened  breathlessly,  peering  into 
the  dark  interior  whence  there  was  borne  to  their 
nostrils  a  musty  odor.  A  large  bat  whisked  across 
the  opening,  and  as  they  started  back  alarmed  he 
returned  with  swift  zig-zag  cuts  and  vanished  ghost 
like  into  the  house. 

"It's  deserted,"  whispered  Rebecca. 

"Perhaps  it's  haunted,"  Phcebe  replied. 

"Well,  we  needn't  go  in,  I  guess,"  said  Rebecca, 
turning  from  the  door  and  starting  briskly  away. 
"Come  on  this  way,  Phoebe — look  out  fer  the  trees 
— lands!  Did  y'ever  see  so  many?" 

A  few  steps  brought  them  to  a  high  brick  wall, 
against  which  flowers,  weeds,  and  vines  grew  rank 
together.  They  followed  this  wall,  walking  more 
rapidly,  for  the  day  was  breaking  in  earnest  and 
groping  was  needless  now.  Presently  they  came  to 
a  spot  where  the  wall  was  broken  away,  leaving  an 
opening  just  broad  enough  to  admit  a  man's  body. 
Rebecca  squeezed  boldly  through  and  Phoebe  fol 
lowed  her,  rather  for  company's  sake  than  with  any 
curiosity  to  see  what  was  beyond. 

They  found  themselves  in  a  sort  of  open  common, 
stretching  to  the  edge  of  a  broad  roadway  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  where  they  stood.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  road  a  cluster  of  gabled  cottages  was 
visible  against  the  faint  rose  tint  of  the  eastern 
sky. 

As  Phoebe  came  to  her  sister's  side,  she  clutched 
her  arm  excitedly: 

126 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

"Rebecca!"  she  exclaimed.  "'Tis  Newington,  as 
true  as  I  live!  Newington  and  Blackmail  Street!" 

Suddenly  she  sat  down  in  the  grass  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  said  Rebecca,  looking  down 
at  her  sister  with  a  puzzled  expression.  "Where's 
Newington — I  never  heerd  tell  of  Blackman  Street. 
Air  ye  thinkin'  of  Boston,  or 

Phoebe  interrupted  her  by  leaping  to  her  feet  and 
starting  back  to  the  opening  in  the  wall. 

"Come  back,  Rebecca!"  she  exclaimed.  "Come 
back  quick!" 

Rebecca  followed  her  sister  in  some  alarm.  Phoebe 
must  have  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  she  thought.  Per 
haps  they  had  reached  one  of  those  regions  infected 
by  fevers  of  which  she  had  heard  from  time  to  time. 

In  silence  the  two  women  hurried  back  to  the  Pan- 
chronicon,  whose  uncouth  form  was  now  quite  plain 
ly  visible  behind  the  trees  into  the  midst  of  which 
it  had  fallen  when  the  power  stored  within  it  was 
exhausted. 

Not  until  they  were  safely  seated  in  Rebecca's 
room  did  Phoebe  speak  again. 

"There!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  dropped  to  a  seat 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  "I  declare  to  goodness,  Re 
becca,  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it!" 

"What  is  it?  What  ails  ye?"  said  Rebecca,  anx 
iously. 

"Why,  I  don't  believe  I'm  myself,  Rebecca.  I've 
been  here  before.  I  know  that  village  out  there, 

127 


and — and — it's  all  I  can  do  to  talk  same's  I've  always 
been  used  to.  I'm  wanting  to  talk  like — like  I  did 
awhile  back." 

"It's  all  right!  It's  all  right!"  said  Rebecca,  sooth 
ingly.  "Th'  ain't  nothing  the  matter  with  you, 
deary.  Ye've  ben  shet  up  here  with  side  weight  an' 
what  not  so  long — o'  course  you're  not  yerself." 

She  bustled  about  pretending  to  set  things  to 
rights,  but  her  heart  was  heavy  with  apprehension. 
She  thought  that  Phoebe  was  in  the  first  stages  of 
delirium. 

"Not  myself!  No,"  said  Phoebe.  "No— the  fact 
is,  I'm  somebody  else !" 

At  this  Rebecca  straightened  up  and  cast  one  hor 
rified  glance  at  her  sister.  Then  she  turned  and  be 
gan  to  put  on  her  bonnet  and  jacket.  Her  mind  was 
made  up.  Phoebe  was  delirious  and  they  must  seek 
a  doctor — at  once. 

"Get  your  things  on,  Phoebe,"  she  said,  striving 
to  appear  calm.  "Put  on  your  things  an'  come  out 
with  me.  Let's  see  if  we  can't  take  a  little  exercise." 

Phoebe  arose  obediently  and  went  to  her  room. 
They  were  neither  of  them  very  long  about  their 
preparations,  and  by  the  time  the  sun  was  actually 
rising,  the  two  women  were  leaving  the  air-ship  for 
the  second  time,  Phoebe  carrying  the  precious  carved 
box  and  Rebecca  her  satchel  and  umbrella. 

"What  you  bringin'  that  everlastin'  packet  o' 
letters  for?"  Rebecca  asked,  as  they  reached  the 
opening  in  the  wall. 

128 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

"I  want  to  have  it  out  in  the  light,"  Phoebe  re 
plied.  "I  want  to  see  something." 

Outside  of  the  brick  wall  she  paused  and  opened 
the  box.  It  was  empty. 

"I  thought  so!"  she  said. 

"Why,  ye've  brought  the  box  'thout  the  letters, 
Phoebe,"  said  Rebecca.  "You're  not  agoin'  back  for 
them,  air  ye?" 

"No,"  Phoebe  replied,  "  'twouldn't  do  any  good. 
Rebecca.  They  aren't  there." 

She  dropped  the  box  in  the  grass  and  looked  wist 
fully  about  her. 

"Not  there!"  said  Rebecca,  nonplussed.  "Why, 
who'd  take  'em?" 

"Nobody.    They  haven't  been  written  yet." 

"Not — not — "  Rebecca  gasped  for  a  moment  and 
then  hurried  toward  the  road.  "Come  on!"  she  cried. 

Surely,  she  thought — surely  they  must  find  a  doc 
tor  without  delay. 

But  before  they  reached  the  road,  Rebecca  was 
glad  to  pause  again  and  take  advantage  of  a  friendly 
bush  from  whose  cover  she  might  gaze  without  being 
herself  observed. 

The  broad  highway  which  but  so  short  a  time  ago 
was  quite  deserted,  was  now  occupied  by  a  double 
line  of  bustling  people — young  and  old — men, 
women,  and  children.  Those  travelling  toward  their 
left,  to  the  north,  were  principally  men  and  boys, 
although  now  and  then  a  pair  of  loud-voiced  girls 
passed  northward  with  male  companions.  Those  who 

129 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

were  travelling  southward  were  the  younger  ones, 
and  often  whole  families  together.  Among  these 
the  women  predominated. 

All  of  these  people  were  laughing — calling  rough 
jokes  back  and  forth — singing,  running,  jumping, 
and  dancing,  till  the  whole  roadway  appeared  a  merry 
Bedlam. 

"Must  be  a  county  fair  near  here!"  exclaimed  Re 
becca.  "But  will  ye  listen  to  the  gibberish  an'  see 
their  clothes!" 

Indeed,  the  language  and  the  costumes  were  most 
perplexing  to  good  New  England  ears  and  eyes,  and 
Rebecca  knew  not  whether  to  advance  or  to  retreat. 

The  women  all  wore  very  wide  and  rather  short 
skirts,  the  petticoat  worn  exposed  up  to  where  a  full 
over-skirt  or  flounce  gave  emphasis  to  their  hips.  The 
elder  ones  wore  long-sleeved  jackets  and  high- 
crowned  hats,  while  the  young  ones  wore  what  looked 
like  low-necked  jerseys  tied  together  in  front  and 
their  braided  hair  hung  from  uncovered  crowns. 

The  men  wore  short  breeches,  some  full  trunk 
hose,  some  tighter  but  puffed;  their  jackets  were  of 
many  fashions,  from  the  long-skirted  open  coats  of 
the  elders  to  the  smart  doublets  or  shirts  of  the 
young  men. 

The  children  were  dressed  like  the  adults,  and 
most  of  them  wore  wreaths  and  garlands  of  flowers, 
while  in  the  hands  of  many  were  baskets  full  of 
posies. 

Phoebe  gazed  from  her  sister's  side  with  the  keen- 
ISO 


est  delight,  saying  nothing,  but  turning  her  eyes 
hither  and  thither  as  though  afraid  of  losing  the  least 
detail  of  the  scene. 

Presently  two  young  girls  approached,  each  with 
a  basket  in  her  hand.  They  moved  slowly  over  the 
grass,  stopping  constantly  to  pick  the  violets  under 
their  feet.  They  were  so  engrossed  in  their  task  and 
in  their  conversation  that  they  failed  to  notice  the 
two  sisters  half  hidden  by  the  shrubbery. 

"Nay — nay!"  the  taller  of  the  two  was  saying,  "I 
tell  thee  he  made  oath  to't,  Cicely.  Knew  ye  ever 
Master  Stephen  to  be  forsworn?" 

"A  lover's  oaths — truly!"  laughed  the  other. 
"Why,  they  be  made  for  breaking.  I  doubt  not  he 
hath  made  a  like  vow  to  a  score  of  silly  wenches  ere 
this,  coz!" 

"Thou  dost  him  wrong,  Cicely.  An  he  keep  not 
the  tryst,  'twill  only  be " 

"  'Twill  only  be  thy  first  misprision,  eh  ?" 

"Marry,  then " 

Here  their  words  were  lost  as  they  continued  to 
move  farther  away,  still  disputing  together. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Rebecca,  turning  to  Phoebe. 
"Now  I  know  where  we've  ben  carried  to.  This  is 
the  Holy  Land — Jerusalem  or  Bethlehem  or  Canaan 
or  some  sech  place.  Thou — thee — thy !  Did  ye  hear 
those  girls  talkin'  Bible  language,  Phosbe?" 

Phcebe  shook  her  head  and  was  about  to  reply 
when  there  was  a  loud  clamour  of  many  tongues  from 
the  road  near  by. 

131 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"The  May-pole!  The  May-pole!"  and  someone 
started  a  roaring  song  in  which  hundreds  soon  joined. 
The  sisters  could  not  distinguish  the  words,  but  the 
volume  of  sound  was  tremendous. 

There  was  the  tramp  of  many  rushing  feet  and  a 
Babel  of  cries  behind  them.  They  turned  to  see  a 
party  of  twenty  gayly  clad  young  men  bearing  down 
upon  them,  carrying  a  mighty  May-pole  crowned  with 
flowers  and  streaming  with  colored  ribbons. 

Around  these  and  following  after  were  three  or 
four  score  merry  lads  and  lasses,  all  running  and 
capering,  shouting  and  dancing,  singly  or  in  groups, 
hand  in  hand. 

In  a  trice  Rebecca  found  herself  clinging  to  Phoebe 
with  whom  she  was  borne  onward  helpless  by  the 
mad  throng. 

The  new-comers  were  clad  in  all  sorts  of  fantastic 
garbs,  and  many  of  them  were  masked.  Phoebe  and 
her  sister  were  therefore  not  conspicuous  in  their 
long  scant  black  skirts  and  cloth  jackets  with  balloon 
sleeves.  Their  costumes  were  taken  for  disguises, 
and  as  they  were  swallowed  up  in  the  mad  throng 
they  were  looked  on  as  fellow  revellers. 

Had  Rebecca  been  alone,  she  would  probably  have 
succeeded  in  time  in  working  her  way  out  of  this  un 
welcome  crowd,  but  to  her  amazement,  no  sooner 
had  they  been  surrounded  by  the  young  roysterers 
than  Phoebe,  breaking  her  long  silence,  seized  her 
sister  by  the  hand  and  began  laughing,  dancing,  and 
running  with  the  best  of  them.  To  crown  all,  what 

132 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

was  Rebecca's  surprise  to  hear  her  sister  singing  word 
for  word  the  madcap  song  of  the  others,  as  though 
she  had  known  these  words  all  her  life.  She  did  not 
even  skip  those  parts  that  made  Rebecca  blush. 

It  was  incredible — monstrous — impossible!  Phoe 
be,  the  sweet,  modest,  gentle,  prudish  Phoebe,  singing 
a  questionable  song  in  a  whirl  of  roystering  Jerusa- 
lemites! 

Up  the  broad  road  they  danced — up  to  the  north 
ward,  all  men  making  way  for  them  as,  with  hand 
bag  and  umbrella  flying  in  her  left  hand,  she  was 
dragged  forward  on  an  indecorous  run  by  Phoebe, 
who  held  her  tightly  by  the  right. 

On — ever  on,  past  wayside  inn  and  many  a  lane 
and  garden,  house  and  hedge.  Over  the  stones  and 
ruts,  choking  in  clouds  of  dust. 

Once  Rebecca  stumbled  and  a  great  gawky  fellow 
caught  her  around  the  waist  to  prevent  her  falling. 

"Lips  pay  forfeit  for  tripping  feet,  lass!"  he  cried, 
and  kissed  her  with  a  sounding  smack. 

Furious  and  blushing,  she  swung  her  hand-bag  in 
a  circle  and  brought  it  down  upon  the  ravisher's  head. 

"Take  that,  you  everlastin'  rascal,  you!"  she 
gasped. 

The  bumpkin  dodged  with  a  laugh  and  disappeared 
in  the  crowd  and  dust,  cuffing,  pushing,  scuffling,  hug 
ging,  and  kissing  quite  heedless  of  small  rebuffs. 

When  they  had  proceeded  thus  until  Rebecca 
thought  there  was  nothing  left  for  it  but  to  fall  in 
her  tracks  and  be  trampled  to  death,  the  whole  crowd 

133 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

came  suddenly  to  a  halt,  and  the  young  men  began 
to  erect  the  May-pole  in  the  midst  of  a  shaded  green 
on  one  side  of  the  main  road. 

Rebecca  stood,  angry  and  breathless,  trying  to 
flick  the  dust  off  her  bag  with  her  handkerchief, 
while  Phoebe,  at  her  side,  her  eyes  bright  and  cheeks 
rosy,  showed  her  pretty  teeth  in  a  broad  smile  of 
pleasure,  the  while  she  tried  to  restore  some  order 
to  her  hair.  As  for  her  hat,  that  had  long  ago  been 
lost. 

"I  declare — I  declare  to  goodness!"  panted  Rebec 
ca,  "ef  anybody'd  told  me  ez  you,  Phoebe  "Wise,  would 
take  on  so — so  like — like  a — a " 

"Like  any  Zanny's  light-o-love,"  Phoebe  broke  in, 
her  bosom  heaving  with  the  violence  of  her  exercise. 
"But  prithee,  sweet,  chide  me  not.  From  this  on 
shall  I  be  chaste,  demure,  and  sober  as  an  abbess  in 
a  play.  But  oh! — but  oh!"  she  cried,  stretching  her 
arms  high  over  her  head,  "  'twas  a  goodly  frolic,  sis ! 
I  felt  a  three-centuries'  fasting  lust  for  it,  in  good 
sooth !" 

Rebecca  clutched  her  sister  by  the  arm  and  shook 
her. 

"Phoebe  Wise — Phoebe  Wise!"  she  cried,  looking 
anxiously  into  her  face,  "wake  up  now — wake  up! 
What  in  the  universal  airth " 

A  loud  shout  cut  her  short,  and  the  two  sisters 
turned  amazed. 

"The  bull!    The  bull!" 

There  was  an  opening  in  the  crowd  as  four  men 
134 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

approached  leading  and  driving  a  huge  angry  bull, 
which  was  secured  by  a  ring  in  his  nose  to  which  ropes 
were  attached.  Another  man  followed,  dragged  for 
ward  by  three  fierce  bull-dogs  in  a  leash. 

The  bull  was  quickly  tied  to  a  stout  post  in  the 
street,  and  the  crowd  formed  a  circle  closely  sur 
rounding  the  bull-ring.  It  was  the  famous  bull-ring 
of  Blackman  Street  in  Southwark. 

A  moment  later  the  dogs  were  freed,  and  amid 
their  hoarse  baying  and  growling  and  the  deep  roar 
ing  of  their  adversary,  the  baiting  began — the  chief 
sport  of  high  and  low  in  the  merry  days  of  good 
Queen  Bess. 

The  sisters  found  themselves  in  the  front  of  the 
throng  surrounding  the  raging  beasts,  and,  before  she 
knew  it,  Rebecca  saw  one  of  the  dogs  caught  on  the 
horns  of  the  bull  and  tossed,  yelping  and  bleeding, 
into  the  air. 

For  one  moment  she  stood  aghast  in  the  midst  of 
the  delighted  crowd  of  shouting  onlookers.  Then 
she  turned  and  fiercely  elbowed  her  way  outward, 
followed  by  her  sister. 

"Come  'long — come  'long,  Phoebe!"  she  cried. 
"We'll  soon  put  a  stop  to  this!  I'll  find  the  select 
men  o'  this  town  an'  see  ef  this  cruelty  to  animals 
is  agoin'  on  right  here  in  open  daylight.  I  guess 
the's  laws  o'  some  kind  here,  ef  it  is  Bethlehem  or 
Babylon!" 

Hot  with  indignation,  the  still  protesting  woman 
reached  the  outskirts  of  the  throng  and  looked  about 

135 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

her.  Close  at  hand  a  tall,  swaggering  fellow  was 
loafing  about.  He  was  dressed  in  yellow  from  head 
to  foot,  save  where  his  doublet  and  hose  were  slashed 
with  dirty  red  at  elbows,  shoulders,  and  hips.  A 
dirty  ruff  was  around  his  neck,  and  on  his  head  he 
wore  a  great  shapeless  hat  peaked  up  in  front. 

"Hey,  mister!"  cried  Eebecca,  addressing  this 
worthy.  "Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  one  o' 
the  selectmen?" 

The  stranger  paused  in  his  walk  and  glanced  first 
at  Rebecca  and  then,  with  evidently  increased  inter 
est,  at  Phoebe. 

"Selectmen?"  he  asked.  "Who  hath  selected  them, 
dame?" 

He  gazed  quizzically  at  the  excited  woman. 

"Now  you  needn't  be  funny  'bout  it,"  Rebecca 
cried,  "fer  I'm  not  goin'  to  take  any  impidence.  You 
know  who  I  mean  by  the  selectmen  jest's  well  as  I 
do.  I'd  be  obliged  to  ye  ef  ye'd  tell  me  the  way — 
an'  drop  that  Bible  talk — good  every-day  English  is 
good  enough  fer  me!" 

"In  good  sooth,  dame,"  he  replied,  "  'tis  not  every 
day  I  hear  such  English  as  yours." 

He  paused  a  moment  in  thought.  This  was  May 
day — a  season  of  revelry  and  good-natured  practical 
joking.  This  woman  was  evidently  quizzing  him,  so 
it  behooved  him  to  repay  her  in  kind. 

"But  a  truce  to  quips  and  quillets,  say  I,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  'Twill  do  me  much  pleasure  an  your  lady 
ship  will  follow  me  to  the  selectman.  As  it  happens, 

136 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

his  honor  is  even  now  holding  court  near  London 
Bridge." 

"London  Bridge!"  gasped  Rebecca.  "Why,  Lon 
don  ain't  a  Bible  country,  is  it  ?" 

Deigning  no  notice  to  a  query  which  he  did  not 
understand,  the  young  fellow  set  off  to  northward, 
followed  closely  by  the  two  women. 

"Keep  close  to  him,  Phoebe,"  said  Rebecca,  warn- 
ingly.  "Ef  we  should  lose  the  man  in  all  this  rabble 
o'  folks  we  would  not  find  him  in  a  hurry." 

"Thou  seest,  sweet  sister,"  Phoebe  replied,  "  'tis 
indeed  our  beloved  city  of  London.  Did  I  not  tell 
thee  yon  village  was  Newington,  and  here  we  be  now 
in  Southwark,  close  to  London  Bridge." 

Rebecca  had  forgotten  her  sister's  ailment  in  the 
fierce  indignation  which  the  bull-baiting  had  aroused. 
But  now  she  was  brought  back  to  her  own  personal 
fears  and  aims  with  a  rude  shock  by  the  strange  lan 
guage  Phoebe  held. 

She  leaped  forward  eagerly  and  touched  their 
guide's  shoulder. 

"Hey,  mister!"  she  exclaimed,  "I'd  be  obliged  to 
ye  if  ye'd  show  us  the  house  o'  the  nearest  doctor 
before  we  see  the  selectman." 

The  man  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
with  a  cunning  leer  on  his  face.  The  change  of  pur 
pose  supported  his  belief  that  a  May-day  jest  was  for 
ward. 

"Call  me  plain  Jock  Dean,  mistress,"  he  said. 
"And  now  tell  me  further,  wilt  have  a  doctor  of  laws, 

137 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

of  divinity,  or  of  physic.  We  be  in  a  merry  mood 
and  a  generous  to-day,  and  will  fetch  forth  bachelors, 
masters,  doctors,  proctors,  and  all  degrees  from  Ox 
ford,  Cambridge,  or  London  at  a  wink's  notice.  So 
say  your  will." 

Rebecca  would  have  returned  a  sharp  reply  to  this 
banter,  but  she  was  very  anxious  to  find  a  physician 
for  Phoebe,  and  so  thought  it  best  to  take  a  coaxing 
course. 

"What  I  want's  a  doctor,"  she  said.  "I  think  my 
sister's  got  the  shakes  or  suthin',  an'  I  must  take  her 
to  the  doctor.  Now  look  here — you  look  like  a  nice 
kind  of  a  young  man.  I  know  it's  some  kind  of  an 
tiques  and  horribles  day  'round  here,  an'  all  the  folks 
hes  on  funny  clothes  and  does  nothin'  on'y  joke  a 
body.  But  let's  drop  comical  talk  jest  fer  a  minute 
an'  get  down  to  sense,  eh?" 

She  spoke  pleadingly,  and  for  a  moment  Jock 
looked  puzzled.  He  only  understood  a  portion  of 
what  she  was  saying,  but  he  realized  that  she  was 
in  some  sort  of  trouble. 

"Why  bait  the  man  with  silly  questions,  Rebecca," 
Phoebe  broke  in.  "A  truce  to  this  silly  talk  of  apothe 
caries.  I  have  no  need  of  surgeons,  I.  My  good 
fellow,"  she  continued,  addressing  Jock  with  an  air 
of  condescension  that  dumfounded  her  sister,  "is  not 
yonder  the  Southwark  pillory?" 

"Ay,  mistress,"  he  replied,  with  a  grin.  "It's  there 
you  may  see  the  selectman  your  serving-maid  in 
quired  for." 

138 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

Rebecca  gasped  and  clinched  her  hands  fiercely 
on  her  bag  and  umbrella. 

"Serving-maid!"  she  cried. 

"Ahoy — whoop — room!    Yi — ki  yi!" 

A  swarm  of  small  white  animals  ran  wildly  past 
them  from  behind,  and  after  them  came  a  howling, 
laughing,  scrambling  mob  that  filled  the  street. 
Someone  had  loosed  a  few  score  rabbits  for  the  de 
light  of  the  rabble. 

There  was  no  time  for  reflection.  With  one  ac 
cord,  Jock  and  the  two  women  ran  with  all  speed 
toward  the  pillory  and  the  bridge,  driven  forward 
by  the  crowd  behind  them.  To  have  held  their 
ground  would  have  been  to  risk  broken  bones  at  least. 

Fortunately  the  hunted  beasts  turned  sharply  to 
the  right  and  left  at  the  first  cross  street,  and  soon 
the  three  human  fugitives  could  halt  and  draw 
breath. 

They  found  themselves  in  the  outskirts  of  a  crowd 
surrounding  the  pillory,  and  above  the  heads  of  those 
in  front  they  could  see  a  huge  red  face  under  a 
thatch  of  tousled  hair  protruding  stiffly  through  a 
hole  in  a  beam  supported  at  right  angles  to  a  vertical 
post  about  five  feet  high.  On  each  side  of  the  head 
a  large  and  dirty  hand  hung  through  an  appropriate 
opening  in  the  beam. 

Under  the  prisoner's  head  was  hung  an  account 
of  his  misdeeds,  placed  there  by  some  of  his  cronies. 
These  crimes  were  in  the  nature  of  certain  breaches 
of  public  decorum  and  decency,  the  details  of  which 

139 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

the  bystanders  were  discussing  with  relish  and  good- 
humor. 

"Let's  get  out  o'  here,"  said  Rebecca,  suddenly, 
when  the  purport  of  what  she  heard  pierced  her  nine 
teenth-century  understanding.  "These  folks  beat 
me!" 

She  turned,  grasping  Phoebe's  arm  to  enforce  her 
request,  but  she  found  that  others  had  crowded  in 
behind  them  and  had  hemmed  them  in.  This  would 
not  have  deterred  her  but,  unaccountably,  Phosbe  did 
not  seem  inclined  to  move. 

"Nay — nay!"  she  said.  "  'Tis  a  wanton  wastrel, 
and  he  well  deserves  the  pillory.  But,  Rebecca,  I've 
a  mind  to  see  what  observance  these  people  will  give 
the  varlet.  Last  time  I  saw  one  pilloried,  alas !  they 
slew  him  with  shards  and  paving-stones.  This  fellow 
is  liker  to  be  pelted  with  nosegays,  methinks." 

"Mercy  me,  Phoebe !  Whatever — what — oh,  good 
ness  gracious  grandmother,  child!"  Poor  Rebecca 
could  find  only  exclamations  wherein  to  express  her 
feelings.  She  began  to  wonder  if  she  were  dreaming. 

At  this  moment  a  sprightly,  dashing  lad,  in  ragged 
clothing  and  bareheaded,  sprang  to  the  platform  be 
side  the  prisoner  and  waved  his  arms  for  silence. 

There  were  cries  of  "Hear — hear !"  "Look  at  Bait 
ing  Will!"  "Ho— ho— bully  rook!"  "Sh-sh-h!" 

After  a  time  the  tumult  subsided  so  that  Baiting 
Will  could  make  himself  heard.  He  was  evidently 
a  well-known  street  wag,  for  his  remarks  were  re 
ceived  with  frequent  laughter  and  vocal  applause. 

140 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

"Hear  ye — hear  ye — all  good  folk  and  merry!"  he 
shouted.  "Here  ye  see  the  liege  lord  of  all  May 
merry-makers.  Hail  to  the  King  of  the  May,  my 
bully  boys!" 

"Ho— ho!    All  hail!" 

"Hurrah — crown  him,  crown  him!" 

"The  King  of  the  May  forever!" 

By  dint  of  bawling  for  silence  till  he  was  red  in 
the  face,  the  speaker  at  length  made  himself  heard 
again. 

"What  say  ye,  my  good  hearts — shall  we  have  a 
double  coronation?  Where's  the  quean  will  be  his 
consort?  Bring  her  forward,  lads.  We'll  crown  the 
twain." 

This  proposal  was  greeted  with  a  roar  of  laughter 
and  approval,  and  a  number  of  slattern  women 
showing  the  effects  of  strong  ale  in  their  faces 
stepped  boldly  forward  as  competitors  for  corona 
tion. 

But  again  Baiting  Will  waved  his  arms  for  a 
chance  to  speak. 

"Nay,  my  merry  lads  and  lasses,"  he  cried,  "it  were 
not  meet  to  wed  our  gracious  lord  the  king  without 
giving  him  a  chance  to  choose  his  queen!" 

He  leaned  his  ear  close  to  the  grinning  head,  pre 
tending  to  listen  a  moment.  Then,  standing  for 
ward,  he  cried: 

"His  gracious  and  sovereign  majesty  hath  bid  me 
proclaim  his  choice.  He  bids  ye  send  him  up  for 
queen  yon  buxom  dame  in  the  black  doublet  and  un- 

141 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

ruffed  neck — her  wi'  the  black  wand  and  outland 
scrip." 

He  pointed  directly  at  Rebecca.  She  turned  white 
and  started  to  push  her  way  out  of  the  crowd,  but 
those  behind  her  joined  hands,  laughing  and  shout 
ing:  "A  queen — a  queen!" 

Two  or  three  stout  fellows  from  just  beneath  the 
pillory  elbowed  their  way  to  her  side  and  grasped 
her  arms. 

She  struggled  and  shrieked  in  affright. 

Phoebe  with  indignant  face  seized  the  arm  of  the 
man  nearest  her  and  pulled  lustily  to  free  her  sister. 

"Stand  aside,  you  knaves!"  she  cried,  hotly. 
"Know  your  betters  and  keep  your  greasy  hands 
for  the  sluttish  queans  of  Southwark  streets!" 

The  lads  only  grinned  and  tightened  their  hold. 
Rebecca  was  struggling  fiercely  and  in  silence,  save 
for  an  occasional  shriek  of  fear. 

Phoebe  raised  her  voice. 

"Good  people,  will  ye  see  a  lady  tousled  by  knavish 
street  brawlers !  What  ho — a  rescue — a  Burton — a 
Burton — a  rescue — ho!" 

Her  voice  rose  high  above  the  coarse  laughter  and 
chatter  of  the  crowd. 

"What's  this?    Who  calls?" 

The  crowd  parted  to  right  and  left  with  screams 
and  imprecations,  and  on  a  sudden  two  horsemen 
reined  up  their  steeds  beside  the  sisters. 

"Back,  ye  knaves!  Unhand  the  lady!"  cried  the 
younger  of  the  two,  striking  out  with  his  whip  at  the 
heads  of  Rebecca's  captors. 

142 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

Putting  up  their  hands  to  ward  off  these  blows, 
the  fellows  hastily  retreated  a  few  steps,  leaving  Re 
becca  and  Phoabe  standing  alone. 

"What's  here!"  cried  the  young  man.  "God  warn 
us,  an  it  be  not  fair  Mistress  Burton  herself!" 

He  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  with  the  bridle  in 
one  hand  and  his  high-crowned  hat  in  the  other,  he 
advanced,  bowing  toward  the  sisters. 

He  was  a  strongly  built  young  man  of  middle 
height.  His  smooth  face,  broad  brow,  and  pleasant 
eyes  were  lighted  up  by  a  happy  smile  wherein  were 
shown  a  set  of  strong  white  teeth  all  too  rare  in  the 
England  of  his  time.  His  abundant  blond  hair  was 
cut  short  on  top,  but  hung  down  on  each  side,  curling 
slightly  over  his  ears.  He  wore  a  full-skirted,  long- 
sleeved  jerkin  secured  by  a  long  row  of  many  small 
buttons  down  the  front.  A  loose  lace  collar  lay  flat 
over  his  shoulders  and  chest.  His  French  hose  was 
black,  and  from  the  tops  of  his  riding-boots  there 
protruded  an  edging  of  white  lace. 

He  wore  a  long  sword  with  a  plain  scabbard  and 
hilt,  and  on  his  hands  were  black  gloves,  well  scented. 

Pho2be's  face  wore  a  smile  of  pleased  recognition, 
and  she  stretched  forth  her  right  hand  as  the  cavalier 
approached. 

"You  come  in  good  time,  Sir  Guy!"  she  said. 

"In  very  sooth,  most  fair,  most  mellific  damsel, 
your  unworthy  servitor  was  erring  enchanted  in  the 
paradise  of  your  divine  idea  when  that  the  horrific 
alarum  did  wend  its  fear-begetting  course  through 

143 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

the   labyrinthine   corridors  of  his   auricular   senso- 
ries." 

Phoebe  laughed,  half  in  amusement  half  in  soft 
content.  Then  she  turned  to  Rebecca,  who  stood 
with  wide-open  eyes  and  mouth  contemplating  this 
strange  apparition. 

"Be  not  confounded,  sweetheart,"  she  said.  "Have 
I  not  told  thee  I  have  ta'en  on  another's  self.  Come 
— thou  art  none  the  less  dear,  nor  I  less  thine  own." 

She  stepped  forward  and  put  her  hand  gently  on 
her  sister's. 

Rebecca  looked  with  troubled  eyes  into  Phoebe's 
face  and  said,  timidly: 

"Won't  ye  go  to  a  doctor's  with  me,  Phoebe?" 

There  was  a  rude  clatter  of  hoofs  as  the  elder  of 
the  new-comers  trotted  past  the  two  women  and,  with 
his  whip  drove  back  the  advancing  crowd,  which  had 
begun  to  close  in  upon  them  again. 

"You  were  best  mount  and  away  with  the  ladies, 
Sir  Guy,"  he  said.  "Yon  scurvy  loons  are  in  poor 
humor  for  dalliance." 

With  a  graceful  gesture,  Sir  Guy  invited  Phoebe 
to  approach  his  horse.  She  obeyed,  and  stepping 
upon  his  hand  found  herself  instantly  seated  before 
his  saddle.  She  seemed  to  find  the  seat  familiar,  and 
her  heart  beat  with  a  pleasure  she  could  scarce  ex 
plain  when,  a  moment  later,  the  handsome  cavalier 
swung  into  place  behind  her  and  put  one  arm  about 
her  waist  to  steady  her. 

Rebecca  started  forward,  terror-stricken. 
144 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

"Phoebe — Phoebe !"  she  cried.  "Ye  wouldn't  leave 
me  here  I" 

"Nay — nay!"  said  a  gruff  but  kindly  voice  at  her 
side.  "Here,  gi'e  us  your  hand,  dame,  step  on  my 
foot,  and  up  behind  you  go." 

Sir  Guy's  horse  was  turning  to  go,  and  in  her  panic 
Rebecca  awaited  no  second  bidding,  but  scrambled 
quickly  though  clumsily  to  a  seat  behind  the  serving- 
man. 

They  were  all  four  soon  free  of  the  crowd  and  out 
of  danger,  thanks  to  the  universal  respect  for  rank 
and  the  essential  good  nature  of  the  May-day  gath 
ering. 

The  horses  assumed  an  easy  ambling  gait,  a  sort 
of  single  step  which  was  far  more  comfortable  than 
Rebecca  had  feared  she  would  find  it. 

The  relief  of  deliverance  from  the  rude  mob  be 
hind  her  gave  Rebecca  courage,  and  she  gazed  about 
with  some  interest. 

On  either  side  of  the  street  the  houses,  which  hith 
erto  had  stood  apart  with  gardens  and  orchards  be 
tween  them,  were  now  set  close  together,  with  the 
wide  eaves  of  their  sharp  gables  touching  over  nar 
row  and  dark  alleyways.  The  architecture  was  un 
like  anything  she  had  ever  seen,  the  walls  being  built 
with  the  beams  showing  outside  and  the  windows  of 
many  small  diamond-shaped  panes. 

They  had  only  proceeded  a  few  yards  when  Re 
becca  saw  the  glint  of  sunbeams  on  water  before  them 
and  found  that  they  were  approaching  a  great  square 

145 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

tower,  surmounted  by  numberless  poles  bearing  form 
less  round  masses  at  their  ends. 

With  one  arm  around  her  companion  to  steady 
herself,  she  held  her  umbrella  and  bag  tightly  in 
her  free  hand.  Now  she  pointed  upward  with  her 
umbrella  and  said: 

"Do  you  mind  tellin'  me,  mister,  what's  thet  fruit 
they're  a-dryin'  up  on  thet  meetin'-house  ?" 

The  horseman  glanced  upward  for  a  moment  and 
then  replied,  with  something  of  wonder  in  his  voice : 

"Why,  those  are  men's  heads,  dame.  Know  you 
not  London  Bridge  and  the  traitors'  poles  yet?" 

"Oh,  good  land!"  said  the  horrified  woman,  and 
shut  her  mouth  tightly.  Evidently  England  was  not 
the  sort  of  country  she  had  pictured  it. 

They  rode  into  a  long  tunnel  under  the  stones  of 
this  massive  tower  and  emerged  to  find  themselves 
upon  the  bridge.  Again  and  again  did  they  pass 
under  round-arched  tunnels  bored,  as  it  were,  through 
gloomy  buildings  six  or  seven  stories  high.  These 
covered  the  bridge  from  end  to  end,  and  they 
swarmed  with  a  squalid  humanity,  if  one  might  judge 
from  the  calls  and  cries  that  resounded  in  the  vaulted 
passageways  and  interior  courts. 

As  they  finally  came  out  from  beneath  the  last 
great  rookery,  the  sisters  found  themselves  in  Lon 
don,  the  great  and  busy  city  of  four  hundred  thou 
sand  inhabitants. 

They  were  on  New  Fish  Street,  and  their  nostrils 
gave  them  witness  of  its  name  at  once.  Farther  up 

146 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

the  slight  ascent  before  them  they  met  other  and  far 
worse  smells,  and  Rebecca  was  disgusted. 

"Where  are  we  goin'?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  to  your  mistress'  residence,  of  course." 

Rebecca  was  on  the  point  of  objecting  to  this  char 
acterization  of  her  sister,  but  she  thought  better  of 
it  ere  she  spoke.  After  all,  if  these  men  had  done 
all  this  kindness  by  reason  of  a  mistake,  she  needed 
not  to  correct  them. 

The  street  up  which  they  were  proceeding  opened 
into  Gracechurch  Street,  leading  still  up  the  hill  and 
away  from  the  Thames.  It  was  a  fairly  broad  high 
way,  but  totally  unpaved,  and  disgraced  by  a  ditch 
or  "kennel"  into  which  found  their  way  the  ill-smell 
ing  slops  thrown  from  the  windows  and  doors  of  the 
abutting  houses. 

"Good  land  o'  Goshen!"  Rebecca  exclaimed  at  last. 
"Why  in  goodness'  name  does  all  the  folks  throw 
sech  messes  out  in  the  street?" 

"Why,  where  would  you  have  them  throw  them, 
dame?"  asked  her  companion,  in  surprise.  "Are  ye 
outlandish  bred  that  ye  put  me  such  questions?" 

"Not  much!"  she  retorted,  hotly.  "It's  you  folks 
that's  outlandish.  Why,  where  I  come  from  they 
hev  sewers  in  the  city  streets  an'  pavements  an'  side 
walks  an'  trolley  cars.  Guess  I've  ben  to  Keene,  an' 
I  ought  to  know." 

She  tossed  her  head  with  the  air  of  one  who  has 
said  something  conclusive. 

The  man  held  his  peace  for  a  moment,  dumfound- 
147 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

ed.  Then  he  laughed  heartily,  with  head  thrown 
back. 

"That's  what  comes  of  a  kittenish  hoyden  for  a 
mistress.  Abroad  too  early,  dame,  and  strong  ale 
before  sunrise!  These  have  stolen  away  your  wits 
and  made  ye  hold  strange  discourse.  Sewers — side- 
walkers  forsooth — troll  carries,  ho — ho!" 

Rebecca  grew  red  with  fury.  She  released  her 
hold  to  thump  her  companion  twice  on  the  arm  and 
nearly  fell  from  the  horse  in  consequence. 

"You  great  rascal!"  she  cried,  indignantly.  "How 
dare  ye  talk  'bout  drinkin'  ale!  D'you  s'pose  I'd 
touch  the  nasty  stuff?  Me — a  member  of  the  Wom 
an's  Christian  Temperance  Union !  Me — a  Daughter 
of  Temperance  an'  wearin'  the  blue  ribbon!  You'd 
ought  to  be  ashamed,  that's  what  you  ought!" 

But  the  servant  continued  to  laugh  quietly  and 
Rebecca  raged  within.  Oh  how  she  hated  to  have 
to  sit  thus  close  behind  a  man  who  had  so  insulted 
her!  Clinging  to  him,  too!  Clinging  for  dear  life 
to  a  man  who  accused  her  of  drinking  ale ! 

They  turned  to  the  left  into  Leadenhall  Street  and 
Bucklesbury,  where  the  two  women  sniffed  with  de 
lighted  relief  the  spicy  odor  of  the  herbs  exposed 
on  every  hand  for  sale.  They  left  Gresham's  Royal 
Exchange  on  the  right,  and  shortly  afterward  stopped 
before  the  door  of  one  of  the  many  well-to-do  houses 
of  that  quarter. 

Sir  Guy  and  the  two  women  dismounted,  and, 
while  the  groom  held  the  horses,  the  others  ap- 

148 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

preached    the    building    before    which    they    had 
paused. 

Rebecca  was  about  to  address  Phoebe,  whose  blush 
ing  face  was  beaming  with  pleasure,  when  the  door 
was  suddenly  thrown  open  and  a  happy-looking  bux 
om  woman  of  advanced  middle  age  appeared. 

"Well — well — well!"  she  cried,  holding  up  her  fat 
hands  in  mock  amazement.  "Out  upon  thee,  Polly, 
for  a  light-headed  wench!  What — sneaking  out  to 
an  early  tryst!  Fie,  girl!" 

"Now,  good  mine  aunt,"  Phoebe  broke  in,  with  a 
smile  and  a  curtsey,  "no  tryst  have  I  kept,  in  sooth. 
Sir  Guy  is  my  witness  that  he  found  me  quite  by 
chance." 

"In  very  truth,  good  Mistress  Goldsmith,"  said  the 
knight,  "it  was  but  the  very  bounteous  guerdon  of 
fair  Dame  Fortune  that  in  the  auspicious  forthcom 
ing  of  my  steed  I  found  the  inexpressible  delectancy 
of  my  so  great  discovery!" 

He  bowed  as  he  gave  back  one  step  and  kissed  his 
hand  toward  Phoebe. 

"All  one — all  one,"  said  Dame  Goldsmith,  laugh 
ing  as  she  held  out  her  hand  to  Phoebe.  "My  good 
man  hath  a  homily  prepared  for  you,  mistress,  and 
the  substance  of  it  runneth  on  the  folly  of  early 
rising  on  a  May-day  morning." 

Phoebe  held  forth  her  hand  to  the  knight,  who 
kissed  it  with  a  flourish,  hat  in  hand. 

"Shall  I  hear  from  thee  soon?"  she  said,  in  an  un 
dertone. 

149 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Forthwith,  most  fairly  beautiful — most  gracious 
rare!"  he  replied. 

Then,  leaping  on  his  horse,  he  dashed  down  the 
street  at  a  mad  gallop,  followed  closely  by  his  groom. 

Rebecca  stood  stupefied,  gazing  first  at  one  and 
then  at  the  other,  till  she  was  rudely  brought  to  her 
senses  by  no  other  than  Dame  Goldsmith  herself. 

"What,  Rebecca !"  she  exclaimed.  "Hast  break 
fasted,  woman — what?" 

"Ay,  aunt,"  Phoebe  broke  in,  hurriedly.  "Rebecca 
must  to  my  chamber  to  tire  me  ere  I  see  mine  uncle. 
Prithee  temper  the  fury  of  his  homily,  sweet  aunt." 

Taking  the  dame's  extended  hand,  she  suffered 
herself  to  be  led  within,  followed  by  Rebecca,  too 
amazed  to  speak. 

On  entering  the  street  door  they  found  themselves 
in  a  large  hall,  at  the  farther  end  of  which  a  bright 
wood  fire  was  burning,  despite  the  season.  A  black 
oak  table  was  on  one  side  of  the  room  against  the 
wall,  upon  which  were  to  be  seen  a  number  of  earthen 
beakers  and  a  great  silver  jug  or  tankard.  A  carved 
and  cushioned  settle  stood  against  the  opposite  wall, 
and  besides  two  comfortable  arm-chairs  at  the  two 
chimney-corners  there  were  two  or  three  heavy  chairs 
of  antique  pattern  standing  here  and  there.  The 
floor  was  covered  with  newly  gathered  fresh-smelling 
rushes. 

A  wide  staircase  led  to  the  right,  and  to  this  Phoebe 
turned  at  once  as  though  she  had  always  lived  there. 

"Hast  heard  from  my  father  yet  ?"  she  asked,  paus- 
150 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

ing  upon  the  first  stair  and  addressing  Dame  Gold 
smith. 

"Nay,  girl.  Not  so  much  as  a  word.  I  trow  he'll 
have  but  little  to  say  to  me.  Ay — ay — a  humorous 
limb,  thy  father,  lass." 

She  swept  out  of  the  room  with  a  toss  of  the  head, 
and  Phoebe  smiled  as  she  turned  to  climb  the  stairs. 
Immediately  she  turned  again  and  held  out  one  hand 
to  Rebecca. 

"Come  along,  Rebecca.  Let's  run  'long  up,"  she 
said,  relapsing  into  her  old  manner. 

She  led  the  way  without  hesitation  to  a  large,  light 
bedroom,  the  front  of  which  hung  over  the  street. 
Here,  too,  the  floor  was  covered  with  sweet  rushes, 
a  fact  which  Rebecca  seemed  to  resent. 

"Why  the  lands  sakes  do  you  suppose  these  Lon 
don  folks  dump  weeds  on  their  floors?"  she  asked. 
"An'  look  there  at  those  two  beds,  still  unmade  and 
all  tumbled  disgraceful!" 

"Why,  there's  where  we  slept  last  night,  Rebecca," 
said  Phoebe,  laughing  as  she  dropped  into  a  chair. 
"As  for  the  floors,"  she  continued,  "they're  always 
that  way  when  folks  ain't  mighty  rich.  The  lords 
and  all  have  carpets  and  rugs." 

Rebecca,  stepping  very  high  to  avoid  stumbling 
in  the  rushes,  moved  over  to  the  dressing-table  and 
proceeded  to  remove  her  outer  wraps,  having  first 
deposited  her  bag  and  umbrella  on  a  chair. 

"I  don't  see  how  in  gracious  you  know  so  much 
about  it,"  she  remarked,  querulously.  "  'Pon  my 

151 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

word,  you  acted  with  that  young  jackanapes  an'  that 
fat  old  lady  downstairs  jest's  ef  you'd  allus  known 
em." 

"Well,  so  I  have,"  Phoebe  replied,  smiling.  "I 
knew  them  all  nearly  three  hundred  years  before 
you  were  born,  Rebecca  Wise." 

Rebecca  dropped  into  a  chair  and  looked  helplessly 
at  her  sister  with  her  arms  hanging  at  her  sides. 

"Phoebe  Wise —  "  she  began. 

"No,  not  now!"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  stopping  her 
sister  with  a  gesture.  "You  must  call  me  Mistress 
Mary.  I'm  Mary  Burton,  daughter  of  Isaac  Burton, 
soon  to  be  Sir  Isaac  Burton,  of  Burton  Hall.  You 
are  my  dear  old  tiring-woman — my  sometime  nurse 
— and  thou  must  needs  yield  me  the  respect  and  obe 
dience  as  well  as  the  love  thou  owest,  thou  fond  old 
darling!" 

The  younger  woman  threw  her  arms  about  the 
other's  neck  and  kissed  her  repeatedly. 

Rebecca  sat  mute  and  impassive,  making  no  re 
turn. 

"Seems  as  though  I  ought  to  wake  up  soon  now," 
she  muttered,  weakly. 

"Come,  Rebecca,"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  briskly,  step 
ping  to  a  high,  carved  wardrobe  beside  her  bed,  "this 
merry-making  habit  wearies  me.  Let  us  don  a  fitter 
attire.  Come — lend  a  hand,  dearie — be  quick!" 

Rebecca  sat  quite  still,  watching  her  sister  as  she 
proceeded  to  change  her  garments,  taking  from  ward 
robe  and  tiring  chest  her  wide  skirts,  long-sleeved 

152 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

jacket,  and  striped  under-vest  with  a  promptitude 
and  readiness  that  showed  perfect  familiarity  with 
her  surroundings. 

"There,"  thought  Rebecca,  "I  have  it !  She's  been 
reading  those  old  letters  and  looking  at  that  ivory 
picture  so  long  she  thinks  that  she's  the  girl  in  the 
picture  herself,  now.  Yes,  that's  it.  Mary  Burton 
was  the  name!" 

When  Phoebe  was  new-dressed,  her  sister  could 
not  but  acknowledge  inwardly  that  the  queer  clothes 
were  mightily  becoming.  She  appeared  the  beau 
ideal  of  a  merry,  light-hearted,  healthy  girl  from 
the  country. 

On  one  point,  however,  Rebecca  could  not  refrain 
from  expostulating. 

"Look  a-here,  Phoebe,"  she  said,  in  a  scandalized 
voice,  as  she  rose  and  faced  her  sister,  "ain't  you  goin' 
to  put  on  somethin'  over  your  chest?  That  ain't 
decent  the  way  you've  got  yerself  fixed  now!" 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Phoebe,  with  a  mischievous 
twinkle  in  her  eye.  "Wouldst  have  me  cover  my 
breast  like  a  married  woman!  Look  to  thine  own 
attire.  Come,  where  hast  put  it?" 

Rebecca  put  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  looked  into 
her  sister's  face  with  a  stern  determination. 

"Ef  you  think  I'm  agoin'  to  put  on  play-actor 
clothes  an'  go  round  lookin'  indecent,  Phoebe  Wise, 
why,  you're  mistaken — 'cause  I  ain't — so  there!" 

"Nay,  nurse !"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  earnestly.  "  'Tis 
the  costume  thou  art  wearing  now  that  is  mummer's 

153 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

weeds.  Come,  sweet — come !  They'll  not  yield  tliee 
admittance  below  else." 

She  concluded  with  a  warning  inflection,  and  shook 
her  finger  affectionately  at  her  sister. 

Rebecca  opened  her  mouth  several  times  and 
closed  it  again  in  despair  ere  she  could  find  a  reply. 
At  length  she  seated  herself  slowly,  folded  her  arms, 
and  said: 

"They  can  do  jest  whatever  they  please  downstairs, 
Phoebe.  As  fer  me,  I'd  sooner  be  seen  in  my  night 
gown  than  in  the  flighty,  flitter-scatter  duds  the 
women  'round  here  wear.  Not.  but  you  look  good 
enough  in  'em,  if  you'd  cover  your  chest,  but  play- 
actin'  is  meant  for  young  folks — not  fer  old  maids 
like  me." 

"Nay— but " 

"What  the  lands  sakes  d'ye  holler  neigh  all  the 
time  fer?  I'm  not  agoin'  to  neigh,  an'  you  might  's 
well  make  up  your  mind  to't." 

Phoebe  bit  her  lips  and  then,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  turned  to  the  door. 

"Well,  well!    E'en  have  it  thy  way!"  she  said. 

Followed  by  Rebecca,  the  younger  woman  de 
scended  the  stairs.  As  she  reached  the  entrance  hall, 
she  stopped  short  at  sight  of  a  tall,  heavy  man  stand 
ing  beside  the  table  across  the  room  with  his  face 
buried  in  a  great  stone  mug. 

He  had  dropped  his  flat  round  hat  upon  the  table, 
and  his  long  hair  fell  in  a  sort  of  bush  to  his  wide, 
white-frilled  ruff.  He  wore  a  long-skirted,  loose  coat 

154 


NEW  TIES  AND  OLD  RELATIONS 

of  green  cloth  with  yellow  fringe,  provided  with 
large  side-pockets,  but  without  a  belt.  The  sleeves 
were  loose,  but  brought  in  tightly  at  the  wrists  by 
yellow  bands.  His  green  hose  were  of  the  short  and 
tight  French  pattern,  and  he  wore  red  stockings  and 
pointed  shoes  of  Spanish  leather. 

As  he  removed  the  cup  with  a  deep  sigh  of  satis 
faction,  there  was  revealed  a  large,  cheerful  red  face 
with  a  hooked  nose  between  bushy  brows  overhang 
ing  large  blue  eyes. 

Phrebe  stood  upon  the  lowest  stair  in  smiling  silence 
and  with  folded  hands  as  he  caught  her  eye. 

"Ha,  thou  jade!"  cried  Master  Goldsmith,  for  he 
it  was.  "Wilt  give  me  the  slip  of  a  May-day  morn!" 

He  set  down  his  cup  with  a  loud  bang  and  strode 
over  to  the  staircase,  shaking  his  finger  playfully  at 
his  niece. 

Rebecca  had  just  time  to  notice  that  his  long,  full 
beard  and  mustache  were  decked  with  two  or  three 
spots  of  froth  when,  to  her  great  indignation,  Phoebe 
was  folded  in  his  arms  and  soundly  kissed  on  both 
cheeks. 

"There,  lass!"  he  chuckled,  as  he  stepped  back, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "I  told  thy  aunt  I'd  make  thee 
do  penance  for  thy  folly." 

Phrebe  wiped  her  cheeks  with  her  handkerchief 
and  tipped  her  head  impudently  at  the  cheerful  rav- 
isher. 

"Now,  God  mend  your  manners,  uncle!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "What !  Bedew  my  cheeks  with  the  froth 

155 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

of  good  ale  on  your  beard  while  my  throat  lacks  the 
good  body  o't!  Why,  I'm  burned  up  wi'  thirst!" 

"Good  lack!"  cried  the  goldsmith,  turning  briskly 
to  the  table.  "Had  ye  no  drink  when  ye  first  re 
turned,  then?" 

He  poured  a  smaller  cupful  of  foaming  ale  from 
the  great  silver  jug  and  brought  it  to  Phoebe. 

Rebecca  clutched  the  stair-rail  for  support,  and, 
with  eyes  ready  to  start  from  her  head,  she  leaned 
forward,  incredulous,  as  Phoebe  took  the  cup  from 
the  merchant's  hand. 

Then  she  could  keep  silence  no  longer. 

"Phoebe  Wise!"  she  screamed,  "be  you  goin*  to 
drink  ALE!" 

JSTo  words  can  do  justice  to  the  awful  emphasis 
which  she  laid  upon  that  last  dread  word. 

Phoebe  turned  and  looked  up  roguishly  at  her  sis 
ter,  who  was  still  half-way  up  the  stairs.  The  young 
girl's  left  hand  leaned  on  her  uncle's  arm,  while  with 
her  right  she  extended  the  cup  in  salutation. 

"Here's  thy  good  health,  nurse — and  to  our  better 
acquaintance,"  she  laughed. 

Rebecca  uttered  one  short  scream  and  fled  up  to 
their  bed-room.  She  had  seen  the  impossible.  Her 
sister  Phoebe  with  her  face  buried  in  a  mug  of  ale ! 


156 


CHAPTER   VIII 

HOW   FEANCIS  BACON    CHEATED    THE  BAILIFFS 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  Copernicus  Droop 
finally  awakened.  He  lay  perfectly  still  for  a  min 
ute  or  two,  wondering  where  he  was  and  what  had 
happened.  Then  he  began  to  mutter  to  himself. 

"Machinery's  stopped,  so  we're  on  dry  land,"  he 
said.  Then,  starting  up  on  one  elbow,  he  listened 
intently. 

Within  the  air-ship  all  was  perfect  silence,  but 
from  without  there  came  in  faintly  occasional  symp 
toms  of  life — the  bark  of  a  dog,  a  loud  laugh,  the 
cry  of  a  child. 

Droop  slowly  came  to  his  feet  and  gazed  about. 
A  faint  gleam  of  daylight  found  its  way  past  the 
closed  shutters.  He  raised  the  blinds  and  blinked 
as  he  gazed  out  into  a  perfect  thicket  of  trees  and 
shrubbery,  beyond  which  here  and  there  he  thought 
he  could  distinguish  a  high  brick  wall. 

"Well,  we're  in  the  country,  anyhow!"  he  mut 
tered. 

He  turned  and  consulted  the  date  indicator  in  the 
ceiling. 

"May  1,  1598,"  he  said.  "Great  Jonah!  but  we 
157 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

hev  whirled  back  fer  keeps!    I  s'pose  we  jest  whirled 
till  she  broke  loose." 

He  gazed  about  him  and  observed  that  the  two 
state-room  doors  were  open.  He  walked  over  and 
looked  in. 

"I  wonder  where  them  women  went,"  he  said. 
"Seems  like  they  were  in  a  tremendous  hurry  'bout 
gettin'  way.  Lucky  'tain't  a  city  we're  in,  'cause 
they  might'v  got  lost  in  the  city." 

After  an  attempt  to  improve  his  somewhat  rum 
pled  exterior,  he  made  his  way  down  the  stairs  and 
out  into  the  garden.  Once  here,  he  quickly  discov 
ered  the  building  which  had  arrested  the  attention 
of  the  two  women,  but  it  being  now  broad  daylight, 
he  was  able  thoroughly  to  satisfy  himself  that  chance 
had  brought  the  Panchronicon  into  the  deserted  gar 
den  of  a  deserted  mansion. 

"Wai,  we'll  be  private  an'  cosy  here  till  the  Pan 
chronicon  hez  time  to  store  up  more  force,"  he  said 
out  loud. 

Strolling  forward,  he  skirted  the  high  wall,  and 
ere  long  discovered  the  very  opening  through  which 
the  sisters  had  passed  at  sunrise. 

Stepping  through  the  breach,  he  found  himself, 
as  they  had  done,  near  the  main  London  highway 
in  Newington  village.  The  hurly-burly  of  sunrise 
had  abated  by  this  time,  for  wellnigh  all  the  vil 
lagers  were  absent  celebrating  the  day  around 
their  respective  May-poles  or  at  bear  or  bull-bait 
ing. 

158 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

With  his  hands  behind  him,  he  walked  soberly  up 
and  down  for  a  few  minutes,  carefully  surveying  the 
pretty  wooden  houses,  the  church  in  the  distance,  and 
the  stones  of  the  churchyard  on  the  green  hill-slope 
beyond.  The  architecture  was  not  entirely  unfamil 
iar.  He  had  seen  such  in  books,  he  felt  sure,  but  he 
could  not  positively  identify  it.  Was  it  Kussian, 
Japanese,  or  Italian? 

Suddenly  a  distant  cry  came  to  his  ears. 

"Hi — Lizzie — Lizzie,  wench !  Come,  drive  the  pig 
out  o'  the  cabbages!" 

He  stopped  short  and  slapped  his  thigh. 

"English!"  he  exclaimed.  "  'Tain't  America, 
that's  dead  sure.  Then  it's  England.  England  in 
1598,"  he  continued,  scratching  his  head.  "Let's  see. 
Who  in  Sam  Hill  was  runnin'  things  in  1598?  Rich 
ard  Coor  de  Lion — Henry  Eight — no — or  was  it  Joan 
of  Arc?  Be  darned  ef  I  know!" 

He  looked  about  him  again  and  selected  a  neigh 
boring  house  which  he  thought  promised  informa 
tion. 

He  went  to  the  front  door  and  knocked.  There 
was  no  reply,  despite  many  attempts  to  arouse  the 
inmates. 

"Might  ha'  known,"  he  muttered,  and  started 
around  the  house,  where  he  found  a  side  door  half 
hidden  beneath  the  projection  of  an  upper  story. 

Here  his  efforts  were  rewarded  at  last  by  the  ap 
pearance  of  a  very  old  woman  in  a  peaked  hat  and 
coif,  apparently  on  the  point  of  going  out. 

159 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Looks  like  a  witch  in  the  story-books,"  he 
thought,  but  his  spoken  comment  was  more  polite. 

"Good-mornin',  ma'am,"  he  said.  "Would  you  be 
so  kind  as  to  tell  me  the  name  of  this  town?" 

"This  be  Newington,"  she  replied,  in  a  high, 
cracked  voice. 

"Newington,"  he  replied,  with  a  nod  and  a  smile 
intended  to  express  complete  enlightenment.  "Ah, 
yes — Newington.  Quite  a  town!" 

"Is  that  all  you'd  be  askin',  young  man?"  said  the 
old  woman,  a  little  suspiciously,  eyeing  his  strange 
garb. 

"Why,  yes — no — that  is,  can  you  tell  me  how  far 
it  is  to  London?"  This  was  the  only  English  city  of 
which  he  had  any  knowledge,  so  he  naturally  sought 
to  identify  his  locality  by  reference  to  it. 

"Lunnun,"  said  the  woman.  "Oh,  it'll  be  a  matter 
of  a  mile  or  better!" 

Droop  was  startled,  but  highly  pleased.  Here  was 
luck  indeed. 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "Good-mornin'," 
and  with  a  cheerful  nod,  he  made  off. 

The  fact  is  that  this  information  opened  up  a  new 
field  of  enterprise  and  hope.  At  once  there  leaped 
into  his  mind  an  improved  revival  of  his  original 
plan.  If  he  could  have  made  a  fortune  with  his  great 
inventions  in  1876,  what  might  he  not  accomplish 
by  the  same  means  in  1598!  He  pictured  to  him 
self  the  delight  of  the  ancient  worthies  when  they 
heard  the  rag-time  airs  and  minstrel  jokes  produced 
by  his  phonograph. 

160 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

"By  hockey!"  he  exclaimed,  in  irrepressible  de 
light,  "I'll  make  their  gol  darned  eyes  pop  out!" 

As  he  marched  up  and  down  in  the  deserted  gar 
den,  hidden  by  the  friendly  brick  wall,  he  bitterly 
regretted  that  he  had  limited  himself  to  so  few  mod 
ern  inventions. 

"Ef  I'd  only  known  I  was  comin'  this  fur  back !" 
he  exclaimed,  as  he  talked  to  himself  that  he  might 
feel  less  lonely.  "Ef  I'd  only  known,  I  could  hev 
brought  a  heap  of  other  things  jest's  well  as  not. 
Might  hev  taught  'em  'bout  telegraphin'  an'  tele 
phones.  Could  ha'  given  'em  steam-engines  an'  par 
lor  matches.  By  ginger!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  b'lieve 
I've  got  some  parlor  matches.  Great  Jehosaphat! 
Won't  I  get  rich!" 

But  at  this  a  new  difficulty  presented  itself  to  his 
mind.  He  foresaw  no  trouble  in  procuring  patents 
for  his  inventions,  but  how  about  the  capital  for  their 
exploitation?  Presumably  this  was  quite  as  neces 
sary  here  in  England  as  it  would  have  been  in  Amer 
ica  in  1876.  Unfortunately,  his  original  plan  was 
impossible  of  fulfilment.  Rebecca  had  failed  him 
as  a  capitalist.  Besides,  she  and  Phrebe  had  both 
completely  disappeared. 

It  was  long  before  he  saw  his  way  out  of  this  diffi 
culty,  but  by  dint  of  persistent  pondering  he  finally 
lit  upon  a  plan. 

He  had  brought  with  him  a  camera,  several  hun 
dred  plates,  and  a  complete  developing  and  printing 
outfit.  He  determined  to  set  up  as  a  professional 

161 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

photographer.  His  living  would  cost  him  nothing, 
as  the  Panchronicon  was  well  stored  with  provisions. 
To  judge  by  his  surroundings,  his  privacy  would  prob 
ably  be  respected.  Then,  by  setting  up  as  a  photog 
rapher  he  would  at  least  earn  a  small  amount  of 
current  coin  and  perhaps  attract  some  rich  and  pow 
erful  backer  by  the  novelty  and  excellence  of  his 
process.  On  this  chance  he  relied  for  procuring  the 
capital  which  was  undoubtedly  necessary  for  his 
purpose. 

By  noon  of  the  next  day  he  had  begun  operations, 
having  taken  two  or  three  views  of  familiar  scenes 
in  the  neighborhood,  which  he  affixed  as  samples 
to  a  large  cardboard  sign  on  which  he  had  printed, 
in  large  type: 


AMERICAN  PHOTOGRAPHER 

THE    ONLY    ONE    IN    EXISTENCE 

Step  up  and  have  your  picture  taken 


This  sign  he  nailed  to  a  tree  near  the  road  which 
he  made  his  headquarters.  He  preferred  to  keep  the 
location  and  nature  of  his  abode  a  secret,  and  so  spent 
his  days  under  his  tree  or  sitting  in  the  porch  of  some 
neighboring  house,  for  he  was  not  long  in  making 
friends,  and  his  marvellous  tales  made  him  very 
popular. 

It  was  difficult  for  him  to  fix  a  price  at  first,  not 
162 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

being  acquainted  with  the  coin  of  the  realm,  but  he 
put  his  whole  mind  to  the  acquisition  of  reliable  in 
formation  on  this  point,  and  his  native  shrewdness 
brought  him  success. 

He  found  that  it  was  wisest  for  every  reason  to 
let  it  be  believed  that  the  pictures  were  produced 
by  hand.  The  camera,  he  explained,  was  a  mere  aid 
to  accuracy  of  observation  and  memory  in  reproduc 
tion  of  what  he  saw  through  it.  Thus  he  was  able 
to  command  much  higher  prices  for  the  excellence 
and  perfection  of  his  work  and,  had  he  but  known  it, 
further  avoided  suspicion  of  witchcraft  which  would 
probably  have  attached  to  him  had  he  let  it  be  known 
that  the  camera  really  produced  the  picture. 

In  the  course  of  his  daily  gossip  with  neighbors 
and  with  the  customers,  rustic  and  urban,  who  were 
attracted  by  his  fame,  he  soon  learned  that  "Good 
Queen  Bess"  ruled  the  land,  and  his  speech  grad 
ually  took  on  a  tinge  of  the  Elizabethan  manner  and 
vocabulary  which,  mingling  with  his  native  New 
England  idioms,  produced  a  very  picturesque  effect. 

It  was  a  warm  night  some  weeks  after  Droop  had 
"hung  out  his  shingle"  as  a  professional  photographer 
that  he  sat  in  the  main  room  of  the  Panchronicon, 
reading  for  perhaps  the  twentieth  time  Phoebe's  fa 
mous  book  on  Bacon  and  Shakespeare,  which  she  had 
left  behind.  The  other  books  on  hand  he  found  too 
dry,  and  he  whiled  away  his  idle  hours  with  this  in 
valuable  historic  work,  feeling  that  its  tone  was  in 
harmony  with  his  recent  experiences. 

163 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

So  to-night  he  was  reading  with  the  shutters  tight 
ly  closed  to  prevent  attracting  the  gaze  of  outsiders. 
No  one  had  yet  discovered  his  residence,  and  he  had 
flattered  himself  that  it  would  remain  permanently 
a  secret. 

His  surprise  and  consternation  were  great,  there 
fore,  when  he  was  suddenly  disturbed  in  his  reading 
by  a  gentle  knocking  on  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

"Great  Jonah!"  he  exclaimed,  closing  his  book  and 
cocking  his  head  to  listen.  "Now,  who — wonder  ef 
it's  Cousin  Rebecca  or  Phoebe!" 

The  knock  was  repeated. 

"Why,  'f  course  'tis!"  he  said.  "Couldn't  be  any 
body  else.  Funny  they  never  come  back  sooner!" 

He  laid  his  book  upon  the  table  and  started  down 
the  stairs  just  as  the  knocking  was  heard  for  the 
third  time. 

"Comin' — comin'!"  he  cried.     "Save  the  pieces!" 

He  threw  open  the  door  and  started  back  in  alarm 
as  there  entered  a  strange  man  wrapped  in  a  black 
cloak,  which  he  held  so  as  to  completely  hide  his 
features. 

The  new-comer  sprang  into  the  little  hallway  and 
hastily  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"Close  in  the  light,  friend,"  he  said. 

Then,  glancing  about  him,  he  ascended  the  stairs 
and  entered  the  main  room  above. 

Droop  followed  him  closely,  rubbing  his  hand 
through  his  hair  in  perplexity.  This  intrusion  threat- 

164 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

ened  to  spoil  his  plans.     It  would  never  do  to  have 
the  neighbors  swarming  around  the  Panchronicon. 

The  stranger  threw  off  his  cloak  on  entering  the 
upper  room  and  turned  to  face  his  host. 

"I  owe  you  sincere  acknowledgment  of  thanks, 
good  sir,"  he  said,  gravely. 

He  appeared  to  be  about  thirty-five  years  of  age,' 
a  man  of  medium  stature,  dark  of  hair  and  eyes,  with 
a  pale,  intellectual  face  and  a  close-clipped  beard. 
His  entire  apparel  was  black,  save  for  his  well- 
starched  ruff  of  moderate  depth  and  the  lace  ruffles 
at  his  wrists. 

"Wai,  I  dunno,"  Droop  retorted.  "Marry,  an  I 
hed  known  as  thou  wast  not  an  acquaintance 

"You  would  not  have  given  me  admittance?" 

The  calm,  dark  eyes  gazed  with  disconcerting 
steadiness  into  Droop's  face. 

"Oh— well— I  ain't  sayin' " 

"I  hope  I  have  not  intruded  to  your  hurt  or  seri 
ous  confusion,  friend,"  said  the  stranger,  glancing 
about  him.  "To  tell  the  very  truth,  your  hospitable 
shelter  hath  offered  itself  in  the  hour  of  need." 

"What — doth  it  raineth — eh?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"What  can  I  do  fer  ye?  Take  a  seat,"  said  Droop, 
as  the  stranger  dropped  into  a  chair.  "Thou  know- 
est,  forsooth,  that  I  don't  take  photygraphs  at  night 
— marry,  no!" 

"Are  you,  then,  the  new  limner  who  makes  pic 
tures  by  aid  of  the  box  and  glass?" 

165 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Yea — that's  what  I  am,"  said  Droop. 

"I  was  ignorant  of  the  location  of  your  dwelling. 
Indeed,  it  is  pure  accident — a  trick  of  Fortune  that 
hath  brought  me  to  your  door  to-night." 

Droop  seated  himself  and  directed  an  interrogative 
gaze  at  his  visitor. 

"My  name's  Droop — Copernicus  Droop,"  he  said. 
"An'  you " 

"My  name  is  Francis  Bacon,  Master  Droop — your 
servitor,"  he  bowed  slightly. 

Droop  started  up  stiff  and  straight  in  his  chair. 

"Francis  Bacon!"  he  exclaimed.  "What!  Not 
the  one  as  wrote  Shakespeare?" 

"Shakespeare — Shakespeare!"  said  the  stranger, 
in  a  slow,  puzzled  tone.  "I  do  admit  having  made 
some  humble  essays  in  writing — certain  modest  com 
mentaries  upon  human  motives  and  relations — 
but,  in  good  sooth,  the  title  you  have  named, 
Master  Droop,  is  unknown  to  me.  Shakespeare — 
Shakespeare.  Pray,  sir,  is  it  a  homily  or  an 
essay?" 

"Why,  ye  see,  et's — as  fur's  I  know  it's  a  man — 
a  sorter  poet  or  genius  or  play-writin'  man,"  said 
Droop,  somewhat  confused. 

"A  man — a  poet — a  genius?"  Bacon  repeated, 
gravely.  "Then,  prithee,  friend,  how  meant  you  in 
saying  you  thought  me  him  who  had  written  Shake 
speare?  Can  a  man — a  poet — be  written?" 

"Nay — verily — in  good  sooth — marry,  no!"  stut 
tered  Droop.  "What  they  mean  is  thet  'twas  you 

166 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

wrote  the  things  Shakespeare  put  his  name  to — you 
did,  didn't  you?" 

"Ahem!"  said  the  stranger,  with  dubious  slowness. 
"A  poet — a  genius,  you  say?  And  I  understand  that 
I  am  reputed  to  have  been  the  true  author  of — eh?" 

"Yes,  indeed — yea — la!"  exclaimed  Droop,  now 
sadly  confused. 

"Might  I  ask  the  name  of  some  work  imputed  to 
me,  and  which  this — this  Shake — eh " 

"Shakespeare." 

"Ay,  this  Shakespeare  hath  impudently  claimed 
for  his  own  credit  and  reputation?" 

"Well — why — suffer  me — jest  wait  a  minute," 
said  Droop.  He  clutched  the  book  he  had  been 
reading  and  opened  it  at  random.  "Here,"  he  said. 
"  'Love's  Labor's  Lost,'  for  instance." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Bacon,  starting  indignantly  to 
his  feet.  "  'Tis  but  a  sennight  I  saw  this  same  dull 
nonsense  played  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players. 
'Love's  Labor's — "  he  broke  off  and  repressed  his 
choler  with  some  effort.  Then  in  a  slow,  grave  voice 
he  continued :  "Why,  sir,  you  have  been  sadly  abused. 
Surely  the  few  essays  I  have  made  in  the  field  of 
letters  may  stand  my  warrant  that  I  should  not  so 
demean  myself  as  is  implied  in  this  repute  of  me. 
Pray  tell  me,  sir,  who  are  they  that  so  besmirch  my 
reputation  as  to  impute  to  my  poor  authority  the 
pitiful  lines  of  this  rascal  player?" 

"Why,  in  very  truth — marry,  it's  in  that  book. 
It  was  printed  in  Chicago." 

167 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Bacon  glanced  contemptuously  at  the  volume  with 
out  deigning  to  open  it. 

"And  prithee,  Master  Droop,  where  may  Chicago 
be?" 

"Why  it  was  in — no !  I  mean  it  will  be — oh,  darn 
it  all!  Chicago's  in  Illinois." 

"Illinois — yes — and  Illinois?"  Bacon's  dark  eyes 
were  turned  in  grave  question  upon  his  companion. 

"Why,  that's  in  America,  ye  know." 

"Oh !"  said  Bacon.  Then,  with  a  sigh  of  great 
relief:  "Ah!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yea,  verily — in  sooth — or — or  thereabouts,"  said 
Droop,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"Ah,  in  America!  A  land  of  heathen  savages — 
red-skinned  hunters  of  men.  Yes — yes!  'Twere  not 
impossible  such  persons  might  so  misapprehend  my 
powers.  'Twould  lie  well  within  their  shallow  in 
capacities,  methinks,  to  impute  to  Francis  Bacon, 
Barrister  of  Gray's  Inn,  Member  of  Parliament  for 
Melcombe,  Reversionary  Clerk  of  the  Star  Chamber, 
the  friend  of  the  Earl  of  Essex — to  impute  to  me,  I 
say,  these  frothings  of  a  villain  player — this  Shake — 
eh?  What?" 

"Shakespeare." 

Ay." 

Bacon  paced  placidly  up  and  down  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  while  Droop  followed  him  apologetically  with 
his  eyes.  Evidently  this  was  a  most  important  per 
sonage.  It  behooved  him  to  conciliate  such  a  power 
as  this.  Who  could  tell!  Perhaps  this  friend  of 

168 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

the  Earl  of  Essex  might  be  the  capitalist  for  whom 
he  was  in  search. 

For  some  time  Master  Bacon  paced  back  and  forth 
in  silence,  evidently  wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts. 
In  the  -meantime  Droop's  hopes  rose  higher  and 
higher,  and  at  length  he  could  no  longer  contain 
himself. 

"Why,  Master  Bacon,"  he  said,  "I'm  clean  sur 
prised — yea,  marry,  am  I — that  anybody  could  hev 
ben  sech  a  fool — a — eh?  Well,  a  loon — what? — as 
to  hev  said  you  wrote  Shakespeare.  You're  a  man 
o'  science — that's  what  you  are.  You  don't  concern 
yourself  with  no  trumpery  poetry.  I  can  see  that 
stickin'  out." 

Bacon  was  startled  and  examined  himself  hur 
riedly. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  is  sticking  out, 
friend?" 

"Oh,  I  was  jest  sayin'  it  in  the  sense  of  the  word!" 
said  Droop,  apologetically.  "What  I  mean  is,  it's 
clear  that  you're  not  a  triflin'  poet,  but  a  man  of 
science — eh?" 

"Why,  no.  I  do  claim  some  capacity  in  the  di 
viner  nights  of  lyric  letters,  friend.  You  are  not 
to  despise  poetry.  Nay — rather  contemn  those  who 
bring  scorn  to  the  name  of  poet — vain  writ 
ers  for  filthy  pence — fellows  like  this  same  Shakes 
peare." 

"Yes — that's  what  I  meant,"  said  Droop,  anxious 
to  come  to  the  point.  "But  your  high-water  mark 

169 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

is  science — philosophy — all  that.    Now,  you're  some- 
thin'  of  a  capitalist,  too,  I  surmise." 

He  paused  expectant. 

"A  what,  friend?" 

"Why,  you're  in  some  Trust  er  other,  ain't  ye? — 
Member  of  Congress — I  mean  Parlyinent — friend  of 
Lord  What's-'is-name — Clerk  of  the  Star — suthin'  or 
other.  Guess  you're  pretty  middlin'  rich,  ain't  ye?" 

Bacon's  face  grew  long  at  these  words,  and  he 
seated  himself  in  evident  melancholy. 

"Why,  to  speak  truth,  friend,"  he  said,  "I  find 
myself  at  this  moment  in  serious  straits.  Indeed,  'tis 
an  affair  of  a  debt  that  hath  driven  me  thus  to  your 
door." 

"A  debt!"  said  Droop,  his  heart  sinking. 

"Ay.  The  plain  truth  is,  that  at  this  moment  I 
am  followed  by  two  bailiffs — bearers  of  an  execu 
tion  of  arrest  upon  my  person.  'Twas  to  evade  these 
fellows  that  I  entered  this  deserted  garden,  leaving 
my  horse  without.  'Tis  for  this  cause  I  am  here. 
Now,  Master  Droop,  you  know  the  whole  truth." 

"Great  Jonah!"  said  Droop,  helplessly.  "But 
didn't  you  say  you  had  friends?" 

''None  better,  Master  Droop.  My  uncle  is  Lord 
Burleigh — Lord  High  Treasurer  to  her  Gracious 
Majesty.  My  patron  is  the  Earl  of  Essex " 

"Why  don't  they  give  ye  a  lift?" 

Bacon's  face  grew  graver. 

"Essex  is  away,"  he  said.  "On  his  return  my  ne 
cessities  will  be  speedily  relieved.  As  for  mine  uncle, 

170 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

to  him  have  I  applied;  but  his  lordship  lives  in  the 
sunshine  of  her  Majesty's  smiles,  and  he  cannot  be 
too  sudden  in  aid  of  Francis  Bacon  for  fear  of  losing 
the  Queen's  favor  else." 

"Why  so?" 

"A  long  tale  of  politics,  friend.  A  speech  made 
by  me  in  Parliament  in  opposing  monopolies." 

"Oh!"  said  Droop,  dismally.  "You're  down  on 
monopolies,  air  ye?" 

Bacon  turned  a  wary  eye  upon  his  companion. 

"Why  ask  you  this?"  he  said. 

"Why,  only  to — "  He  paused.  "To  say  sooth," 
he  continued,  with  sudden  resolution,  "I  want  to  get 
a  monopoly  myself — two  or  three  of  'em.  I've  got 
some  Al  inventions  here,  an'  I  want  to  get  'em  pat 
ented.  I  thought,  perhaps,  you  or  your  friends  might 
help  me." 

"Ah!"  Bacon  exclaimed,  with  awakening  interest. 
"You  seek  my  influence  in  furtherance  of  these  de 
signs.  Do  I  apprehend  you?" 

'That's  jest  it,"  said  Droop. 

"And  what  would  be  the — ahem — the  recognition 
which " 

"Why,  you'd  git  a  quarter  interest  in  the  hull  busi 
ness,"  said  Droop,  hopefully.  "That  is,  provided 
you've  got  the  inflooence,  ye  know." 

"Too  slight — too  slight  for  Francis  Bacon,  Mastei 
Droop." 

Copernicus  thought  rapidly  for  a  minute  or  two. 
Then  he  pretended  indifference. 

171 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Oh,  very  good!"  he  said.  "I'll  take  up  with  Sir 
Thomas  Thingumbob — WhatV'is-naine." 

Bacon  pretended  to  accept  the  decision  and 
changed  the  subject. 

"Xow  permit  me  to  approach  the  theme  of  my 
immediate  need,''  he  said.  "These  bailiffs  without — 
they  must  be  evaded.  May  I  have  your  assistance, 
friend,  in  this  matter?" 

"Why— what  can  I  do?" 

"Pray  observe  me  with  all  attention,"  Bacon  be 
gan.  "These  my  habiliments  are  of  the  latest  fashion 
and  of  rich  texture.  Your  habit  is,  if  I  may  so  speak, 
of  inferior  fashion  and  substance.  I  will  exchange 
my  habit  for  yours  on  this  condition — that  you 
mount  my  horse  forthwith  and  ride  away.  The 
moon  is  bright  and  you  will  be  pursued  at  once  by 
these  scurvy  bailiffs.  Lead  them  astray,  Master 
Droop,  to  the  southward,  whilst  I  slip  away  to  Lon 
don  in  your  attire,  wherein  I  feel  sure  no  man  will 
recognize  me.  Once  in  London,  there  is  a  friend 
of  mine — one  Master  Isaac  Burton — who  is  hourly 
expected  and  from  whom  I  count  upon  having  some 
advances  to  stand  me  in  present  stead.  What  say 
you?  Will  you  accept  new  clothing  and  rich — for 
old  and  worn?" 

Droop  approached  his  visitor  and  slowly  examined 
his  clothing,  gravely  feeling  the  stuff  between  thumb 
and  finger  and  even  putting  his  hand  inside  the 
doublet  to  feel  the  lining.  Bacon's  outraged  dignity 
struggled  within  him  with  the  sense  of  his  necessity. 

172 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

Finally,  just  as  he  was  about  to  give  violent  expres 
sion  to  his  impatience,  Droop  stepped  back  and  took 
in  the  general  effect  with  one  eye  closed  and  his  head 
cocked  on  one  side. 

"Jest  turn  round,  will  ye  I**  he  said,  with  a  whirl 
ing  movement  of  the  hand,  "an*  let  me  see  how  it 
looks  in  the  back?" 

Biting  his  lipe,  the  furious  barrister  turned  about 
and  walked  away. 

"Needs  must  where  the  devil  drives,"  he  mut 
tered. 

Droop  shook  his  head  dismally. 

"Marry,  come  up!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  guess  I  can't 
make  the  bargain,  friend  Bacon." 

"But  why?" 

"I  don't  like  the  cut  o'  them  clothes.  Fd  look 
rideec'lous  in  'em.  Besides,  the's  too  much  risk  in 
it,  Bacon,  my  boy,"  he  said,  familiarly,  throwing 
himself  into  the  arm-chair  and  stretching  out  his  legs 
comfortably.  "Ef  the  knaves  was  to  catch  me  an* 
find  out  the  trick  Fd  played  'em,  why,  sure  as  a  gun, 
they'd  put  me  in  the  lock-up  an'  try  me  fer  stealin* 
your  duds — your  habiliments." 

"Xay,  then,"  Bacon  exclaimed,  eagerly,  "Fll  give 
you  a  writing,  Master  Droop,  certifying  that  the 
clothes  were  sold  to  yon  for  a  consideration.  That 
will  hold  you  blameless.  What  say  you?" 

"What  about  the  horse  and  the  saddle  and  bridle  f 

"These  are  borrowed  from  a  friend,  Master 
Droop,"  said  Bacon.  "These  rascals  know  this,  else 
had  they  seized  them  in  execution." 

1Y3 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Ah,  but  won't  they  seize  your  clothes,  Brother 
Bacon?"  said  Droop,  slyly. 

"£Tay — that  were  unlawful.  A  man's  attire  is  free 
from  process  of  execution." 

"I'll  tell  ye  wherein  I'll  go  ye,"  said  Droop,  with 
sudden  animation.  "You  give  me  that  certificate, 
that  bill  of  sale,  you  mentioned,  and  also  a  first-class 
letter  to  some  lord  or  political  chap  with  a  pull  at 
the  Patent  Office,  an'  I'll  change  clothes  with  ye  an' 
fool  them  bailiff  chaps." 

"I'll  e'en  take  your  former  offer,  then,"  said  Ba 
con,  with  a  sigh.  "One  fourth  part  of  all  profits  was 
the  proposal,  was  it  not?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  off!"  said  Droop,  grandly,  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand.  "If  I  go  out  an'  risk  my  neck  in 
them  skin-tight  duds  o'  yourn,  I  get  the  hull  profits 
an'  you  get  to  London  safe  an'  sound  in  these  New 
Hampshire  pants." 

"'But,  good  sir " 

"Take  it  or  leave  it,  friend." 

"Well,"  said  Bacon,  angrily,  after  a  few  moments' 
hesitation,  "have  your  will.  Give  me  ink,  pen,  and 
paper." 

These  being  produced,  the  barrister  curiously  ex 
amined  the  wooden  penholder  and  steel  pen. 

"Why,  Master  Droop,"  he  said,  "from  what  un 
known  bird  have  you  plucked  forth  this  feather?" 

"Feather!"  Droop  exclaimed.     "What  feather?" 

"Why  this?"    Bacon  held  up  the  pen  and  holder. 

"That  ain't  a  feather.  It's  a  pen-holder  an'  a  steel 
174 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

pen,  man.  Say!"  he  exclaimed,  leaning  forward 
suddenly.  "Ye  hain't  ben  drinkin',  hev  ye?" 

To  this  Bacon  only  replied  by  a  dignified  stare  and 
turned  in  silence  to  the  table. 

"Which  you  agoin'  to  write  first,"  said  Droop,  con 
siderately  dropping  the  question  he  had  raised. 

"The  bill  of  sale." 

"All  right.  I'd  like  to  have  ye  put  the  one  about 
the  patent  real  strong.  I  don't  want  to  fail  on  the 
fust  try,  you  know." 

Bacon  made  no  reply,  but  dipped  his  pen  and  set 
to  work.  In  due  time  the  two  documents  were  in 
dited  and  carefully  signed. 

"This  letter  is  addressed  to  my  uncle,  Lord  Bur- 
leigh,"  said  Bacon.  "He  is  at  the  Palace  at  Green 
wich,  with  the  Queen." 

"Shall  I  hev  to  take  it  to  him  myself?" 

"Assuredly." 

"Might  hev  trouble  findin'  him,  I  should  think," 
said  Droop. 

"Mayhap.  On  more  thought,  'twere  better  you 
had  a  guide.  I  know  a  worthy  gentleman — one  of 
the  Queen's  harbingers.  Take  you  this  letter  to  him, 
for  which  purpose  I  will  e'en  leave  it  unsealed  that 
he  may  read  it.  He  will  conduct  you  to  mine  uncle, 
for  he  hath  free  access  to  the  court." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"Sir  Percevall  Hart.  His  is  the  demesne  with  the 
high  tower  of  burnt  bricks,  near  the  west  end  of 
Tower  Street.  But  stay!  'Twere  better  you  did 

1T5 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

seek  him  at  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern  in  East- 
cheap." 

"Sir  Percevall  Hart — Boar's  Head — Eastcheap. 
That's  in  London  City,  I  s'pose." 

"Yes — yes,"  said  Bacon,  impatiently.  "Any  watch 
man  or  passer-by  will  direct  you.  Now,  sir,  'tis  for 
you  to  fulfil  your  promise." 

"All  right,"  said  Droop.  "It's  my  innin's — so  here 
goes." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  two  men  had  changed  their 
costumes  and  stood  looking  at  each  other  with  a  very 
evident  disrelish  of  their  respective  situations. 

Droop  held  his  chin  high  in  the  air  to  avoid  con 
tact  with  the  stiff  ruff,  while  his  companion  turned 
up  the  collar  of  his  nineteenth-century  coat  and  held 
it  together  in  front  as  though  he  feared  taking  cold. 

"Why,  Master  Droop,"  said  Bacon,  glancing  down 
in  surprise  at  his  friend's  nether  extremities,  "what 
giveth  that  unwonted  spiral  look  to  your  legs  ?  They 
be  ribbed  as  with  grievous  weals." 

Droop  tried  to  look  down,  but  his  wide  ruff  pre 
vented  him.  So  he  put  one  foot  on  the  table  and, 
bringing  his  leg  to  the  horizontal,  gazed  dismally 
down  upon  it. 

"Gosh  all  hemlock — them's  my  underdrawers!"  he 
exclaimed.  "These  here  ding-busted  long  socks  o' 
yourn  air  so  all-fired  tight  the  blamed  drawers  hez 
hiked  up  in  ridges  all  round!  Makes  me  look  like 
a  bunch  o'  bananas  in  a  bag!"  he  said,  crossly. 

"Well — well — a  truce  to  trivial  complaints,"  said 
176 


HOW  FRANCIS  BACON  CHEATED  THE  BAILIFFS 

Bacon,  hurriedly,  fearful  that  Droop  might  with 
draw  his  consent  to  the  rescue.  "Here  are  my  cloak 
and  hat,  friend;  and  now  away,  I  pray  you,  and  re 
member — ride  to  southward,  that  I  may  have  a  clear 
field  to  London." 

Droop  donned  the  hat  and  cloak  and  gazed  at  him 
self  sorrowfully  in  the  glass. 

"Darned  ef  I  don't  look  like  a  cross  'tween  a  Fili 
pino  and  a  crazy  cowboy!"  he  muttered. 

"And  think  you  I  have  not  suffered  in  the  ex 
change,  Master  Droop?"  said  Bacon,  reproachfully. 
"In  very  truth,  I  were  not  worse  found  had  I  shrunk 
en  one  half  within  mine  own  doublet!" 

After  some  further  urging,  Droop  was  induced  to 
descend  the  stairs,  and  soon  the  two  men  stood  to 
gether  at  the  breach  in  the  brick  wall.  They  heard 
the  low  whinnying  of  a  horse  close  at  hand. 

"That  is  my  steed,"  Bacon  whispered.  "You  must 
mount  with  instant  speed  and  away  with  all  haste 
to  the  south,  Master  Droop." 

"D'ye  think  I  won't  split  these  darned  pants  and 
tight  socks?"  said  Droop. 

"Hush,  friend,  hush!"  Bacon  exclaimed.  "The 
bailiffs  must  not  know  we  are  here  till  they  see  you 
mount  and  away.  Nay — nay — fear  not.  The  hose 
and  stockings  will  hold  right  securely,  I  warrant  you." 

"Well,  so  long!"  said  Droop,  and  the  next  moment 
he  was  in  the  saddle.  "G'lang  there!  Geet  ap!" 
he  shouted,  slapping  the  horse's  neck  with  his  bridle. 

With  a  snort  of  surprise,  the  horse  plunged  for- 
177 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

ward  dashing  across  the  moonlit  field.     A  moment 
later,  Bacon  saw  two  other  horses  leap  forward  in 
pursuit  from  the  dark  cover  of  a  neighboring  grove. 
"Good!"  he  exclaimed.     "The  lure  hath  taken!" 
Then  leaning  over  he  rubbed  his  shins  ruefully. 
"How  the  night  wind  doth  ascend  within  this  bar 
barous  hose!"  he  grumbled. 


178 


CHAPTER   IX 

PHCEBE    AT    THE   PEACOCK   INN 

While  Copernicus  Droop  was  acquiring  fame  and 
fortune  as  a  photographer,  Rebecca  and  Phoebe  were 
leading  a  quiet  life  in  the  city. 

Phoebe  was  perfectly  happy.  For  her  this  was  the 
natural  continuation  of  a  visit  which  her  father, 
Isaac  Burton,  had  very  unwillingly  permitted  her 
to  pay  to  her  dead  mother's  sister,  Dame  Goldsmith. 
She  was  very  fond  of  both  her  aunt  and  uncle,  and 
they  petted  and  indulged  her  in  every  possible  way. 

Her  chief  source  of  happiness  lay  in  the  fact  that 
the  Goldsmiths  favored  the  suit  of  Sir  Guy  Fenton, 
with  whom  she  found  herself  deeply  in  love  from  the 
moment  when  he  had  so  opportunely  arrived  to  res 
cue  the  sisters  from  the  rude  horse-play  of  the  South- 
wark  mob. 

Poor  Rebecca,  on  the  other  hand,  found  herself 
in  a  most  unpleasant  predicament.  She  had  shut 
herself  up  in  her  room  on  the  first  day  of  her  arrival 
on  discovering  that  her  new  hosts  were  ale  drinkers, 
and  she  had  insisted  upon  perpetuating  this  imprison 
ment  when  she  had  discovered  that  she  would  only 
be  accepted  on  the  footing  of  a  servant. 

179 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Phoebe,  who  remembered  Rebecca  both  as  her 
nineteenth-century  sister  and  as  her  sixteenth-cen 
tury  nurse  and  tiring-woman,  thought  this  determina 
tion  the  best  compromise  under  the  circumstances, 
and  explained  to  her  aunt  that  Rebecca  was  subject 
to  recurring  fits  of  delusion,  and  that  it  was  necessary 
at  such  times  to  humor  her  in  all  things. 

On  the  very  day  of  the  visit  of  Francis  Bacon  to 
the  Panchronicon,  the  two  sisters  were  sitting  to 
gether  in  their  bed-room.  Rebecca  was  at  her  knit 
ting  by  the  window  and  Phoebe  was  rereading  a  letter 
for  the  twentieth  time,  smiling  now  and  then  as  she 
read. 

"  'Pears  to  amuse  ye  some,"  said  Rebecca,  dryly, 
looking  into  her  sister's  rosy  face.  "How'd  it  come  ? 
I  ain't  seen  the  postman  sence  we've  ben  here. 
Seems  to  me  they  ain't  up  to  Keene  here  in  London. 
We  hed  a  postman  twice  a  day  at  Cousin  Jane's 
house." 

"No,  'twas  the  flesher's  lad  brought  it,"  said 
Phoebe. 

Rebecca  grunted  crossly. 

"I  wish  the  land  sake  ye'd  say  'butcher'  when  ye 
mean  butcher,  Phoebe,"  she  said. 

"Well,  the  butcher's  boy,  then,  Miss  Particular!" 
said  Phoebe,  saucily. 

Rebecca's  face  brightened. 

"My!  It  does  sound  good  to  hear  ye  talk  good 
Yankee  talk,  Phoebe,"  she  said.  "Ye  hevn't  dropped 
yer  play-actin'  lingo  fer  days  and  days." 

180 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

"Oh,  'tis  over  hard  to  remember,  sis!"  said  Phoebe, 
carelessly.  "But  tell  me,  would  it  be  unmaidenly, 
think  you,  were  I  to  grant  Sir  Guy  a  private  meeting 
—without  the  house?" 

"Which  means  would  I  think  ye  was  wrong  to 
spark  with  that  high-falutin  man  out  o'  doors,  eh?" 

"Yes — say  it  so  an  thou  wilt,"  said  Phoebe,  shyly. 

"Why,  ef  you're  goin'  to  keep  comp'ny  with  him 
'tall,  I  sh'd  think  ye'd  go  off  with  him  by  yerself. 
Thet's  the  way  sensible  folks  do — at  least,  I  b'lieve 
so,"  she  added,  blushing. 

"Aunt  Martha  hath  given  me  free  permission  to 
see  Sir  Guy  when  I  will,"  Phoebe  continued.  "But 
she  hath  been  full  circumspect,  and  ever  keepeth 
within  ear-shot." 

"Humph!"  snapped  Rebecca.  "Y'ain't  got  any 
Aunt  Martha's  fur's  I  know,  but  ef  ye  mean  that 
fat,  beer-drinkin'  woman  downstairs,  why,  'tain't  any 
of  her  concern,  an'  I'd  tell  her  so,  too." 

Phoebe  twirled  her  letter  between  her  fingers  and 
gazed  pensively  smiling  out  of  the  window.  There 
was  a  long  pause,  which  was  finally  broken  by  Re 
becca. 

"What's  the  letter  'bout,  anyway?"  she  said.  "Is 
it  from  the  guy?" 

"You  mean  Sir  Guy,"  said  Phoebe,  in  injured  tones. 

"Oh,  well,  sir  or  ma'am!     Did  he  write  it?" 

"Why,  truth  to  tell,"  said  Phoebe,  slipping  the  note 
into  her  bosom,  "  'Tis  but  one  of  the  letters  I  read 
to  thee  from  yon  carved  box,  Rebecca." 

181 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"My  sakes — that!"  cried  her  sister.  "How'd  the 
butcher's  boy  find  it?  You  don't  s'pose  he  stole  it 
out  o'  the  Panchronicle,  do  ye?" 

"Lord  warrant  us,  sis,  no!  'Twas  writ  this  very 
day.  What  o'clock  is  it?" 

She  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  down  the  street 
toward  the  clock  on  the  Royal  Exchange. 

"Three  i'  the  afternoon/'  she  muttered.  "The 
time  is  short.  Shall  I?  Shall  I  not?" 

"Talkin'  o'  letters,"  said  Rebecca,  suddenly,  "I 
wish'd  you  take  one  down  to  the  Post-Office  fer  me, 
Phoebe."  She  rose  and  went  to  a  drawer  in  the  dress 
ing-table.  "Here's  one  't  I  wrote  to  Cousin  Jane  in 
Keene.  I  thought  she  might  be  worried  about  where 
we'd  got  to,  an'  so  I've  written  an'  told  her  we're 
in  London." 

"The  Post-Office— "  Phoebe  began,  laughingly. 
Then  she  checked  herself.  Why  undeceive  her 
sister?  Here  was  the  excuse  she  had  been 
seeking. 

"Yes;  an'  I  told  her  more'n  that,"  Rebecca  con 
tinued.  "I  told  her  that  jest's  soon  as  the  Panchron 
icle  hed  got  rested  and  got  its  breath,  we'd  set  off 
quick  fer  home — you  an'  me.  Thet's  so,  ain't  it, 
Phoebe  ?"  she  concluded,  with  plaintive  anxiety  in  her 
voice. 

"I'll  take  the  letter  right  along,"  said  Phoebe,  with 
sudden  determination. 

But  Rebecca  would  not  at  once  relax  her  hold  on 
the  envelope. 

182 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

"That's  so,  ain't  it,  dearie?"  she  insisted.  "Won't 
we  make  fer  home  as  soon's  we  can?" 

"Sis,"  said  Phoebe,  gravely,  "an  I  be  not  deeply 
in  error,  thou  art  right.  Now  give  me  the  letter." 

Rebecca  relinquished  the  paper  with  a  sigh  of  re 
lief,  then  looked  up  in  surprise  at  Phoebe,  who  was 
laughing  aloud. 

"Why,  here's  a  five-cent  stamp,  as  I  live!"  she 
cried.  "Where  did  it  come  from?" 

"I  hed  it  in  my  satchel,"  said  Rebecca.  "Ain't 
that  the  right  postage?" 

"Yes — yes,"  said  Phoebe,  still  laughing.  "And  now 
for  the  Post-Office!" 

She  donned  her  coif  and  high-crowned  hat  with 
silver  braid,  and  leaned  over  Rebecca,  who  had  seat 
ed  herself,  to  give  her  a  good-by  kiss. 

"Great  sakes!"  exclaimed  Rebecca,  as  she  received 
the  unaccustomed  greeting.  "You  do  look  fer  all 
the  world  like  one  o'  the  Salem  witches  in  Peter 
Parley's  history,  Phoebe." 

With  a  light  foot  and  a  lighter  heart  for  all  its 
beating,  Phoebe  ran  down  the  street  unperceived 
from  the  house. 

"Bishopsgate!"  she  sang  under  her  breath.  "The 
missive  named  Bishopsgate.  He'll  meet  me  within 
the  grove  outside  the  city  wall." 

Her  feet  seemed  to  know  the  way,  which  was  not 
over  long,  and  she  arrived  without  mishap  at  the 
gate. 

Here  she  was  amazed  to  see  two  elderly  men,  evi- 
183 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

dently  merchants,  for  they  were  dressed  much  like 
her  uncle  the  goldsmith,  approach  two  gayly  dressed 
gentlemen  and,  stopping  them  on  the  street,  proceed 
to  measure  their  swords  and  the  width  of  their  ex 
travagant  ruffs  with  two  yardsticks. 

The  four  were  so  preoccupied  with  this  ceremony 
that  she  slipped  past  them  without  attracting  the 
disagreeable  attention  she  might  otherwise  have  re 
ceived. 

As  she  passed,  the  beruffled  gentlemen  were  laugh 
ing,  and  she  heard  one  of  them  say: 

"God  buy  you,  friends,  our  ruffs  and  bilbos  have 
had  careful  measurement,  I  warrant  you." 

"Right  careful,  in  sooth,"  said  one  of  those  with 
the  yardsticks.  "They  come  within  a  hair's  breadth 
of  her  Majesty's  prohibition." 

Phoebe  had  scant  time  for  wonder  at  this,  for  she 
saw  in  a  grove  not  a  hundred  yards  beyond  the  gate 
the  trappings  of  a  horse,  and  near  by  what  seemed 
a  human  figure,  motionless,  under  a  tree. 

Making  a  circuit  before  entering  the  grove,  she 
came  up  behind  the  waiting  figure,  far  enough  within 
the  grove  to  be  quite  invisible  from  the  highway. 

She  hesitated  for  some  time  ere  she  felt  certain 
that  it  was  indeed  Sir  Guy  who  stood  before  her.  He 
was  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion,  and  she  fan 
cied  that  she  could  smell  the  perfumes  he  wore,  as 
they  were  borne  on  the  soft  breeze  blowing  toward 
her. 

His  hair  fell  in  curls  on  either  side  from  beneath 
184 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

a  splendid  murrey  French,  hat,  the  crown  of  which 
was  wound  about  with  a  gold  cable,  the  brim  being 
heavy  with  gold  twist  and  spangles.  His  flat  soft 
ruff,  composed  of  many  layers  of  lace,  hung  over  a 
thick  blue  satin  doublet,  slashed  with  rose-colored 
taffeta  and  embroidered  with  pearls,  the  front  of 
which  was  brought  to  a  point  hanging  over  the  front 
of  his  hose  in  what  was  known  as  a  peascod  shape. 
The  tight  French  hose  was  also  of  blue  satin,  ver 
tically  slashed  with  rose.  His  riding-boots  were  of 
soft  brown  Spanish  leather  and  his  stockings  of  pearl- 
gray  silk.  A  pearl-gray  mantle  lined  with  rose-col 
ored  taffeta  was  fastened  at  the  neck,  under  the 
ruff,  and  fell  in  elegant  folds  over  his  left  arm,  half 
concealing  the  hand  resting  upon  the  richly  jewelled 
hilt  of  a  sword  whose  scabbard  was  of  black  velvet. 

"God  ild  us!"  Phoebe  exclaimed  in  low  tones. 
"What  foppery  have  we  here!" 

Then,  slipping  behind  a  tree,  she  clapped  her 
hands. 

Guy  turned  his  head  and  gazed  about  in  wonder, 
for  no  one  was  visible.  Phoebe  puckered  her  lips 
and  whistled  softly  twice.  Then,  as  her  lover  darted 
forward  in  redoubled  amazement,  she  stepped  into 
view,  and  smiled  demurely  upon  him  with  hands 
folded  before  her. 

The  young  knight  leaped  forward,  and,  dropping 
on  one  knee,  carried  her  hand  rapturously  to  his 
lips. 

"Now  sink  the  orbed  sun!"  he  exclaimed.  "For 
185 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

behold  a  fairer  cometh,  whose  love-darting  eyes  do 
slay  the  night,  rendering  bright  day  eternate!" 

Smiling  roguishly  down  into  his  face,  Phoebe  shook 
her  head  and  replied : 

"You  are  full  of  pretty  phrases.  Have  you  not 
been  acquainted  with  goldsmiths'  wives,  and  conned 
them  out  of  rings?" 

For  an  instant  the  young  man  was  disconcerted. 
Then  rising,  he  said: 

"Nay,  from  the  rings  regardant  of  thine  eyes  I 
learned  my  speech.  What  are  golden  rings  to  these?" 

"Why,  how  much  better  is  thy  speech  when  it 
ringeth  true,"  said  Phoebe.  "Thy  speech  of  greeting 
was  conned  with  much  pains  from  the  cold  book  of 
prior  calculation,  and  so  I  answered  you  from  a  poet's 
play.  I  would  you  loved  me!" 

"Loved  thee,  oh,  divine  enchantress — too  cruel- 
lovely  captress  of  my  dole-breathing  heart!" 

"Tut — tut — tut !"  she  broke  in,  stamping  her  foot. 
"Thou  dost  it  badly,  Sir  Guy.  A  truce  to  Euphuistic 
word-coining  and  phrase-shifting!  Wilt  show  thy 
love — in  all  sadness,  say!" 

"In  any  way — or  sad  or  gay!" 

"Then  prithee,  good  knight,  stand  on  thy  head  by 
yonder  tree." 

The  cavalier  stepped  back  and  gazed  into  his  lady's 
face  as  though  he  thought  her  mad. 

"Stand — on — my — head!"  he  exclaimed,  slowly. 

Phoebe  laughed  merrily  and  clapped  her  hands. 

"Good  my  persuasion!"  she  rippled.  "See  how 
186 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

thou  art  shaken  into  thyself,  man.  What!  No 
phrase  of  lackadaisical  rapture!  Why,  I  looked  to 
see  thee  invert  thine  incorporate  satin  in  an  airy 
rhapsody — upheld  and  kept  unruffled  by  some  fan 
tastical  twist  of  thine  imagination.  Oh,  Fancy — 
Fancy!  Couldst  not  e'en  sustain  thy  knight  cap-a- 
pie!"  and  she  laughed  the  harder  as  she  saw  her 
lover's  face  grow  longer  and  longer. 

"Why,  mistress,"  he  began,  soberly,  "these  quips 
and  jests  ill  become  a  lover's  tryst,  methinks " 

"As  ill  as  paint  and  scent  and  ear-rings — as  foppish 
attire  and  fantastical  phrases  do  become  an  honest 
lover,"  said  Phoebe,  indignantly.  "Dost  think  that 
Mary  Burton  prizes  these  weary  labyrinthine  sen 
tences — all  hay  and  wool,  like  the  monstrous  swell 
ing  of  trunk  hose?  Far  better  can  I  read  in  Master 
Lilly's  books.  Thinkest  thou  I  came  hither  to  smell 
civet?  Nay — I  love  better  the  honest  odor  of  cab 
bages  in  mine  aunt's  kitchen!  And  all  this  finery 
— this  lace — this  satin  and  this  pearl  embroid 
ery ' 

"In  God  His  name!"  the  knight  broke  in,  stamping 
his  foot.  "Dost  take  me  for  a  little  half-weaned 
knave,  that  I'll  learn  how  to  dress  me  of  a  woman? 
An  you  like  not  my  speech,  mistress " 

Phoebe  cut  him  short,  putting  her  hand  on  his 
mouth. 

Then  she  leaned  her  shoulder  against  a  tree,  and 
looking  up  saucily  into  his  face: 

"Now,  don't  get  mad!"  she  said. 
187 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Mad — mad!"  said  Sir  Guy,  with  a  puzzled  look. 
"An  this  be  madness,  mistress,  then  is  her  Majesty's 
whole  court  a  madhouse." 

"Well,  young  man,"  Phoebe  replied,  with  her  prim 
New  England  manner,  "if  you  want  to  marry  me, 
you'll  have  to  come  and  live  in  a  country  where  they 
don't  have  queens,  and  you'll  work  in  your  shirt 
sleeves  like  an  honest  man.  You  might  just's  well 
understand  that  first  as  last." 

The  knight  moved  back  a  step,  with  an  injured 
expression  on  his  face. 

"Nay,  then,"  he  said,  "an  thou  mock  me  with  un 
couth  phrases,  Mary,  I'd  best  be  going." 

"Perhaps  you'd  better,  Guy." 

With  a  reproachful  glance,  but  holding  his  head 
proudly,  the  young  man  mounted  his  horse. 

"He  hath  a  noble  air  on  horseback,"  Phoebe  said 
to  herself,  and  she  smiled. 

The  young  man  saw  the  smile  and  took  courage. 

He  urged  his  horse  forward  to  her  side. 

"Mary!"  he  exclaimed,  tenderly. 

"Fare  thee  well!"  she  replied,  coolly,  and  turned 
her  back. 

He  bit  his  lip,  clinched  his  hand,  and  without  an 
other  word,  struck  fiercely  with  his  spurs.  With  a 
snort  of  pain,  the  horse  bounded  forward,  and  Phoebe 
found  herself  alone  in  the  grove. 

She  gazed  wistfully  after  the  horseman  and 
clasped  her  hands  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 
Then,  at  thought  of  the  letter  she  knew  he  was  soon 

188 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

to  write — the  letter  she  had  often  seen  in  the  carved 
box — she  smiled  again  and,  patting  her  skirts,  stepped 
forth  merrily  from  the  edge  of  the  grove. 

"After  all,  'twill  teach  the  silly  lad  better  man 
ners!"  she  said. 

Scarcely  had  she  reached  the  highway  again  when 
she  heard  a  man's  voice  calling  in  hearty  tones. 

"Well  met,  Mistress  Mary!  I  looked  well  to  find 
you  near — for  I  take  it  'twas  Sir  Guy  passed  me  a 
minute  gone,  spurring  as  'twere  a  shame  to  see." 

She  looked  up  and  saw  a  stout,  middle-aged  coun 
tryman  on  horseback,  holding  a  folded  paper  in  his 
hand. 

"Oh,  'tis  thou,  Gregory !"  she  said,  coolly.  "Mend 
thy  manners,  man,  and  keep  thy  place." 

The  man  grinned. 

"For  my  place,  Mistress  Mary,"  he  said,  "I  doubt 
you  know  not  where  your  place  be." 

She  looked  up  with  a  frown  of  angry  surprise. 

"Up  here  behind  me  on  young  Bess,"  he  grinned. 
"See,  here's  your  father's  letter,  mistress." 

She  took  the  paper  with  one  hand  while  with  the 
other  she  patted  the  soft  nose  of  the  mare,  who  was 
bending  her  head  around  to  find  her  mistress. 

"Good  Bess — good  old  mare!"  she  said,  gently, 
gazing  pensively  at  the  letter. 

How  well  she  knew  every  wrinkle  in  that  paper, 
every  curve  in  the  clumsy  superscription.  Full  well 
she  knew  its  contents,  too ;  for  had  she  not  read  this 
very  note  to  Copernicus  Droop  at  the  North  Pole? 

189 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

However,  partly  that  he  might  not  be  set  to  asking 
questions,  partly  in  curiosity,  she  unfolded  the  paper. 

"DEAK  POLL" — it  began — "I'm  starting  behind  the 
grays  for  London  on  my  way  to  be  knighted  by  her 
Majesty.  I  send  this  ahead  by  Gregory  on  Bess,  she 
being  fast  enow  for  my  purpose,  which  is  to  get  thee 
out  of  the  clutches  of  that  ungodly  aunt  of  thine.  I 
know  her  tricks,  and  I  learn  how  she  hath  suffered 
that  damned  milk-and-water  popinjay  to  come  court 
ing  my  Poll.  So  see  you  follow  Gregory,  mistress, 
and  without  wait  or  parley  come  with  him  to  the 
Peacock  Inn,  where  I  lie  to-night. 

"The  grays  are  in  fine  fettle,  and  thy  black  mare 
grows  too  fat  for  want  of  exercise.  Thy  mother-in- 
law  commands  thy  instant  return  with  Gregory,  hav 
ing  much  business  forward  with  preparing  gowns 
and  fal  lals  against  our  presentation  to  her  Majesty. 
— Thy  father,  Isaac  Burton,  of  Burton  Hall. 

"Thy  mother  thinks  thou  wilt  make  better  speed 
if  I  make  thee  to  know  that  the  players  thou  wottest 
of  are  to  stop  at  the  Peacock  Inn  and  will  be  giving 
some  sport  there." 

"The  players!"  she  exclaimed,  eagerly.  "Be  these 
the  Lord  Chamberlain's  men?"  she  asked.  "Is  there 
not  among  them  one  Will  Shakespeare,  Gregory? 
What  play  give  they  to-night?" 

"All  one  to  me,  mistress,"  said  Gregory,  slowly 
dismounting.  "There  be  players  at  the  Peacock,  for 

190 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

the  kitchen  wench  told  me  of  them  as  I  stopped  there 
for  a  pint;  but  be  they  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  or 
the  Queen's,  I  cannot  tell." 

"Do  they  play  at  the  Shoreditch  Theatre  or  at  the 
inn,  good  Gregory?" 

"I'  faith  I  know  not,  mistress,"  he  replied,  bracing 
his  brawny  right  hand,  palm  up,  at  his  knee. 

Mechanically  she  put  one  foot  into  his  palm  and 
sprang  lightly  upon  the  pillion  behind  the  groom's 
saddle. 

As  they  turned  and  started  at  a  jog  trot  northward, 
she  remembered  her  sister  and  her  new-found  aunt. 

"Hold— hold,  Gregory!"  she  cried.  "What  of  Re 
becca?  What  of  my  aunt — my  gowns?" 

"I  am  to  send  an  ostler  from  the  Peacock  for  your 
nurse  and  clothing,  mistress,"  said  Gregory.  "My 
orders  was  not  to  wait  for  aught,  but  bring  you  back 
instant  quickly  wheresoever  I  found  you."  After  a 
pause  he  went  on  with  a  grin:  "I  doubt  I  came  late, 
hows'ever.  Sir  Guy  hath  had  his  say,  I'm  thinkin' !" 
and  he  chuckled  audibly. 

"Now  you  mind  your  own  business,  Gregory!"  said 
Phoebe,  sharply. 

His  face  fell,  and  during  the  rest  of  their  ride  he 
maintained  a  rigid  silence. 

The  next  morning  found  Phoebe  sitting  in  her 
room  in  the  Peacock  Inn,  silently  meditating  in  an 
effort  to  establish  order  in  the  chaos  of  her  mind. 
Her  hands  lay  passively  in  her  lap,  and  between  her 

191 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

fingers  was  an  open  sheet  of  paper  whose  crisp  folds 
showed  it  to  be  a  letter. 

Daily  contact  with  the  people,  customs,  dress,  and 
tongue  of  Elizabethan  England  was  fast  giving  to 
her  memories  of  the  nineteenth  century  the  dim 
seeming  of  a  dream.  As  she  came  successively  into 
contact  with  each  new-old  acquaintance,  he  took  his 
place  in  her  heart  and  mind  full  grown — completely 
equipped  with  all  the  associations,  loves,  and  antip 
athies  of  long  familiarity. 

Gregory  had  brought  her  to  the  inn  the  night  be 
fore,  and  here  she  had  received  the  boisterous  wel 
come  of  old  Isaac  Burton  and  the  cooler  greeting  of 
his  dame,  her  step-mother.  They  took  their  places 
in  her  heart,  and  she  was  not  surprised  to  find  it  by 
no  means  a  high  one.  The  old  lady  was  overbearing 
and  far  from  loving  toward  Mistress  Mary,  as  Phoebe 
began  to  call  herself.  As  for  Isaac  Burton,  he 
seemed  quite  subject  to  his  wife's  will,  and  Phoebe 
found  herself  greatly  estranged  from  him. 

That  first  afternoon,  however,  had  transported  her 
into  a  paradise  the  joys  of  which  even  Dame  Burton 
could  not  spoil. 

Sitting  in  one  of  the  exterior  galleries  overlook 
ing  the  courtyard  of  the  inn,  Phoebe  had  witnessed 
a  play  given  on  a  rough  staging  erected  in  the 
open  air. 

The  play  was  "The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  and  who 
can  tell  the  thrills  that  tingled  through  Phoebe's 
frame  as,  with  dry  lips  and  a  beating  heart,  she  gazed 

192 


PHGEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

down  upon  Shylock.  Behind  that  great  false  beard 
was  the  face  of  England's  mightiest  poet.  That  wig 
concealed  the  noble  forehead  so  revered  by  high  and 
low  in  the  home  she  had  left  behind. 

She  was  Phoebe  Wise,  and  only  Phoebe,  that  after 
noon,  enjoying  to  the  full  the  privilege  which  chance 
had  thrown  in  her  way.  And  now,  the  morning 
after,  she  went  over  it  all  again  in  memory.  She 
rehearsed  mentally  every  gesture  and  intonation  of 
the  poet-actor,  upon  whom  alone  she  had  riveted  her 
attention  throughout  the  play,  following  him  in 
thought,  even  when  he  was  not  on  the  stage. 

Sitting  there  in  her  room,  she  smiled  as  she  re 
membered  with  what  a  start  of  surprise  she  had  rec 
ognized  one  among  the  groundlings  in  front  of  the 
stage  after  the  performance.  It  was  Sir  Guy,  very 
plainly  dressed  and  gazing  fixedly  upon  her.  Doubt 
less  he  had  been  there  during  the  entire  play,  waiting 
in  vain  for  one  sign  of  recognition.  But  Shylock  had 
held  her  spellbound,  and  even  for  her  lover  she  had 
been  blind. 

She  felt  a  little  touch  of  pity  and  compunction  as 
she  remembered  these  things,  and  suddenly  she  lifted 
to  her  lips  the  letter  she  was  holding. 

"Poor  boy!"  she  murmured.  Then,  shaking  her 
head  with  a  smile:  "I  wonder  how  his  letter  found 
my  room!"  she  said. 

She  rose,  and,  going  to  the  window  where  the  light 
was  stronger,  flattened  out  the  missive  and  read  it 
again : 

193 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"My  DEAR,  DEAR  MARY — dear  to  me  ever,  e'en  in 
thy  displeasure — have  I  fallen,  then,  so  low  in  thy 
sight!  May  I  not  be  forgiven,  sweet  girl,  or  shall 
I  ever  stand  as  I  have  this  day,  gazing  upward  in 
vain  for  the  dear  glance  my  fault  hath  forfeited? 

"In  sober  truth,  dear  heart,  I  hate  myself  for  what 
I  was.  What  a  sad  mummery  of  lisping  nothings 
was  my  speech — and  what  a  vanity  was  my  attire! 
Thou  wast  right,  Mary,  but  oh !  with  what  a  ruthless 
hand  didst  thou  tear  the  veil  from  mine  eyes!  I 
have  seen  my  fault  and  will  amend  it,  but  oh!  tell 
me  it  was  thy  love  and  not  thine  anger  that  hath 
prompted  thee.  And  yet — why  didst  thou  avert 
thine  eyes  from  me  this  even?  Sweet — speak  but 
a  word — write  but  a  line — give  some  assurance,  dear, 
of  pardon  to  him  who  is  forever  thine  in  the  bonds 
of  love." 

She  folded  the  letter  slowly  and  slipped  it  into 
the  bosom  of  her  dress  with  a  smile  on  her  lips  and 
a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes.  She  had  known  this 
letter  almost  by  heart  before  she  received  it.  Had 
it  not  been  one  of  her  New  England  collection? 
Foreknowledge  of  it  had  emboldened  her  to  rebuke 
her  lover  when  she  met  him  by  the  Bishopsgate — 
and  yet — it  had  been  a  surprise  and  a  sweet  novelty 
to  her  when  she  had  found  it  on  her  dressing-table 
the  night  before. 

At  length  she  turned  slowly  from  the  window  and 
said  softly: 

194 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

"Guy's  a  good  fellow,  and  I'm  a  lucky  girl!" 

There  was  a  quick  thumping  of  heavy  feet  on  the 
landing,  and  a  moment  later  a  young  country  girl 
entered.  It  was  Betty,  one  of  the  serving  girls 
whom  Dame  Burton  had  brought  with  her  to  Lon 
don. 

The  lass  dropped  a  clumsy  courtesy,  and  said: 

"Mistress  bade  me  tell  ye,  Miss  Mary,  she  would 
fain  have  ye  wait  on  her  at  once.  She's  in  the  inn 
parlor."  Then,  after  a  pause:  "Sure  she  hath  matter 
of  moment  for  ye,  I  warrant,  or  she'd  not  look  so 
solemn  satisfied." 

Phoebe  was  strongly  tempted  to  decline  this  per 
emptory  invitation,  but  curiosity  threw  its  weight 
into  the  balance  with  complaisance,  and  with  a  dig 
nified  lift  of  the  chin  she  turned  to  the  door. 

"Show  the  way,  Betty,"  she  said. 

Through  several  long  corridors  full  of  perplexing 
turns  and  varied  by  many  a  little  flight  of  steps,  the 
two  young  women  made  their  way  to  the  principal 
parlor  of  the  inn,  where  they  found  Mistress  Burton 
standing  expectantly  before  a  slow  log  fire. 

Phoebe's  worthy  step-mother  was  a  dame  of  middle 
age,  ruddy,  black-haired,  and  stout.  Her  loud  voice 
and  sudden  movements  betrayed  a  great  fund  of  a 
certain  coarse  energy,  and,  as  her  step-daughter  now 
entered  the  parlor,  she  was  fanning  her  flushed  face 
with  an  open  letter.  Her  expression  was  one  of  tri 
umph  only  half-concealed  by  ill-assumed  commisera 
tion. 

195 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Aha,  lass!"  she  cried,  as  she  caught  sight  of 
Phoebe,  "art  here,  then?  Here  are  news  in  sooth — 
news  for — "  She  broke  off  and  turned  sharply  upon 
Betty,  who  stood  by  the  door  with  mouth  and  ears 
wide  open. 

"Leave  the  room,  Betty!"  she  exclaimed.  "Am  I 
to  have  every  lazy  jade  in  London  prying  and  eaves 
dropping?  Trot — look  alive!" 

She  strode  toward  the  reluctant  maid  and,  with  a 
good-natured  push,  hastened  her  exit.  Then,  closing 
the  door,  she  turned  again  toward  Phoebe,  who  had 
seated  herself  by  the  fire. 

"Well,  Polly,"  she  resumed,  "art  still  bent  on  thy 
foppish  lover,  lass?  Not  mended  since  yesternight 
-what?" 

A  cool  slow  inclination  of  Phoebe's  head  was  the 
sole  response. 

"Out  and  alas!"  the  dame  continued,  tossing  her 
head  with  mingled  pique  and  triumph.  "  'Tis  a  sad 
day  for  thee  and  thine,  then !  This  Sir  Guy  of  thine 
is  as  good  as  dead,  girl!  Thy  popinjay  is  a  traitor, 
and  his  crimes  have  found  him  out!" 

"A  traitor!" 

Phoebe  stood  erect  with  one  hand  on  her  heart. 

Dame  Burton  repressed  a  smile  and  continued  with 
a  slow  shake  of  the  head: 

"Ay,  girl;  a  traitor  to  her  blessed  Majesty  the 
Queen.  His  brother  hath  been  discovered  in  traitor 
ous  correspondence  with  the  rebel  O'Neill,  and  is  on 
his  way  to  the  Tower.  Sir  Guy's  arrest  hath  been 

196 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

ordered,  and  the  two  brothers  will  lose  their  heads 
together." 

Very  pale,  Phoebe  stood  with  hands  tight  clasped 
before  her. 

"Where  have  you  learned  this,  mother?"  she  said. 

"Where  but  here!"  the  dame  replied,  shaking  the 
open  sheet  she  held  in  her  hand.  "Thy  Cousin  Percy, 
secretary  to  my  good  Lord  Burleigh,  he  hath  de 
spatched  me  this  writing  here,  which  good  Master 
Portman  did  read  to  me  but  now." 

"Let  me  see  it." 

As  Phoebe  read  the  confirmation  of  her  step 
mother's  ill  news,  she  tried  to  persuade  herself  that 
it  was  but  the  fabrication  of  a  jealous  rival,  for  this 
Percy  was  also  an  aspirant  to  her  hand.  But  it 
proved  too  circumstantial  to  admit  of  this  construc 
tion,  and  her  first  fears  were  confirmed. 

"Ye  see,"  said  Dame  Burton,  as  she  received  the 
note  again,  "the  provost  guard  is  on  the  lad's  track, 
and  with  a  warrant.  I  told  thee  thy  wilful  ways 
would  lead  but  to  sorrow,  Poll!" 

Phoebe  heard  only  the  first  sentence  of  this  speech. 
Her  mind  was  possessed  by  one  idea.  She  must  warn 
her  lover.  Mechanically  she  turned  away,  forgetful 
of  her  companion,  and  passing  through  the  door  with 
ever  quicker  steps,  left  her  step-mother  gazing  after 
her  in  speechless  indignation. 

Phoebe's  movements  were  of  necessity  aimless  at 
first.  Ignorant  of  Sir  Guy's  present  abiding-place, 
knowing  of  no  one  who  could  reach  him,  she  wan- 

197 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

dered  blindly  forward,  up  one  hall  and  down  another 
without  a  distinct  immediate  plan  and  mentally  par 
alyzed  with  dread. 

The  sick  pain  of  fear — the  longing  to  reach  her 
lover's  side — these  were  the  first  disturbers  of  her 
peace  since  her  return  into  this  strange  yet  familiar 
life  of  the  past.  Now  for  the  first  time  she  was  learn 
ing  how  vital  was  the  hold  of  a  sincere  and  deep  love. 
The  thought  of  harm  to  him — the  fear  of  losing  him 
— these  swept  her  being  clear  of  all  small  coquetries 
and  maiden  wiles,  leaving  room  only  for  the  strong, 
true,  sensitive  love  of  an  anxious  woman.  Over  and 
over  again  she  whispered  as  she  walked: 

"Oh,  Guy— Guy!  Where  shall  I  find  you?  What 
shall  I  do!" 

She  had  wandered  long  through  the  mazes  of  the 
quaint  old  caravansary  ere  she  found  an  exit.  At 
length  she  turned  a  sharp  corner  and  found  herself 
at  the  top  of  a  short  flight  of  steps  leading  to  a  door 
which  opened  upon  the  main  outer  court.  At  that 
moment  a  new  thought  leaped  into  her  mind  and 
she  stopped  abruptly,  a  rush  of  warm  color  mantling 
on  her  cheeks. 

Then,  with  a  sigh  of  content,  she  sank  down  upon 
the  top  step  of  the  flight  she  had  reached  and  gently 
shook  her  head,  smiling. 

"Too  much  Mary  Burton,  Miss  Phoebe!"  she  mur 
mured. 

She  had  recollected  her  precious  box  of  letters. 
Of  these  there  was  one  which  made  it  entirely  clear 

198 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

that  Mary  Burton  and  her  lover  were  destined  to 
escape  this  peril;  for  it  was  written  from  him  to  her 
after  their  flight  from  England.  All  her  fears  fell 
away,  and  she  was  left  free  to  taste  the  sweetness 
of  the  new  revelation  without  the  bitterness  in  which 
that  revelation  had  had  its  source. 

Very  dear  to  Phcebe  in  after  life  was  the  memory 
of  the  few  moments  which  followed.  With  her  mind 
free  from  every  apprehension,  she  leaned  her  shoul 
der  to  the  wall  and  turned  her  inward  sight  in 
charmed  contemplation  upon  the  new  treasure  her 
heart  had  found. 

How  small,  how  trifling  appeared  what  she  had 
until  then  called  her  love!  Her  new-found  depth 
and  height  of  tender  devotion  even  frightened  her 
a  little,  and  she  forced  a  little  laugh  to  avert  the 
tears. 

Through  the  open  door  her  eyes  registered  in 
memory  the  casual  movements  without,  while  her 
consciousness  was  occupied  only  with  her  soul's  ex 
perience.  But  soon  this  period  of  blissful  inaction 
was  sharply  terminated.  Her  still  watching  eyes 
brought  her  a  message  so  incongruous  with  her  im 
mediate  surroundings  as  to  shake  her  out  of  her 
waking  dream.  She  became  suddenly  conscious  of 
a  nineteenth-century  intruder  amid  her  almost  me 
dieval  surroundings. 

All  attention  now,  she  sat  quickly  upright  and 
looked  out  again.  Yes — there  could  be  no  mistake 
— Copernicus  Droop  had  passed  the  door  and  was 

199 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

approaching  the  principal  entrance  of  the  inn  on  the 
other  side  of  the  courtyard. 

Phcebe  ran  quickly  to  the  door  and,  protecting  her 
eyes  with  one  hand  from  the  flood  of  brilliant  sun 
light,  she  called  eagerly  after  the  retreating  figure. 

"Mr.  Droop — Mr.  Droop!" 

The  figure  turned  just  as  Phoebe  became  conscious 
of  a  small  crowd  of  street  loafers  who  had  thronged 
curiously  about  the  courtyard  entrance,  staring  at 
the  new-comer's  outlandish  garb.  She  saw  the  grin 
ning  faces  turn  toward  her  at  sound  of  her  voice,  and 
she  shrank  back  into  the  hallway  to  evade  their  gaze. 

The  man  to  whom  she  had  called  re-crossed  the 
courtyard  with  eager  steps.  There  was  something 
strange  in  his  gait  and  carriage,  but  the  strong  sun 
light  behind  him  made  his  image  indistinct,  and  be 
sides,  Phosbe  was  accustomed  to  eccentricities  on  the 
part  of  this  somewhat  disreputable  acquaintance. 

Her  astonishment  was  therefore  complete  when, 
on  removing  his  hat  as  he  entered  the  hallway,  this 
man  in  New  England  attire  proved  to  be  a  complete 
stranger. 

Evidently  the  gentleman  had  suffered  much  from 
the  rudeness  of  his  unwelcome  followers,  for  his  face 
was  flushed  and  his  manner  constrained  and  nervous. 
Bowing  slightly,  he  stood  erect  just  within  the  door. 

"Did  you  do  me  the  honor  of  a  summons,  mis 
tress?"  said  he. 

The  look  of  amazement  on  Pho3be's  face  made 
him  bite  his  lips  with  increase  of  annoyance,  for  he 

200 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

saw  in  her  emotion  only  renewed  evidence  of  the 
ridicule  to  which  he  had  subjected  himself. 

"I — I  crave  pardon !"  Phoebe  stammered.  "I  fear 
I  took  you  for  another,  sir." 

"For  one  Copernicus  Droop,  an  I  mistake  not!" 

"Do  you  know  him?"  she  faltered  in  amazement. 

"I  have  met  him — to  my  sorrow,  mistress.  "Tis 
the  first  time  and  the  last,  I  vow,  that  Francis  Bacon 
hath  dealt  with  mountebanks !" 

"Francis  Bacon!"  cried  Phoebe,  delight  and  curi 
osity  now  added  to  puzzled  amazement.  "Is  it  possi 
ble  that  I  see  before  me  Sir  Francis  Bacon — or  rather 
Lord  Yerulam,  I  believe."  She  dropped  a  courtesy, 
to  which  he  returned  a  grave  bow. 

"Nay,  good  mistress,"  he  replied.  "Neither  knight 
nor  lord  am  I,  but  only  plain  Francis  Bacon,  barris 
ter,  and  Secretary  of  the  Star  Chamber." 

"Oh!"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  "not  yet,  I  see." 

Then,  as  a  look  of  grave  inquiry  settled  over  Ba 
con's  features,  she  continued  eagerly:  "Enough  of 
your  additions,  good  Master  Bacon.  'Twere  better 
I  offered  my  congratulations,  sir,  than  prated  of  these 
lesser  matters." 

"Congratulations!  Good  lady,  you  speak  in  rid 
dles!" 

Smiling,  she  shook  her  head  at  him,  looking  mean 
ingly  into  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  think  not  all  are  ignorant  of  what  you  have 
so  ably  hidden,  Master  Bacon,"  she  said.  "Can  it 
be  that  the  author  of  that  wondrous  play  I  saw  here 

201 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

given  but  yesternight  can  be  content  to  hide  his  name 
behind  that  of  a  too  greatly  favored  player?" 

"Play,  mistress!"  Bacon  exclaimed.  "Why,  here 
be  more  soothsaying  manners  from  a  fairer  speaker 
— but  still  as  dark  as  the  uncouth  ravings  of  that 
fellow — that — that  Droop." 

"Nay — nay!"  Phoebe  insisted.  "You  need  fear  no 
tattling,  sir.  I  will  keep  your  secret — though  in 
very  truth,  were  I  in  your  worship's  place,  'twould 
go  hard  but  the  whole  world  should  know  my 
glory!" 

"Secret — glory!"  Bacon  exclaimed.  "In  all  con 
science,  mistress,  I  beg  you  will  make  more  clear 
the  matter  in  question.  Of  what  play  speak  you? 
Wherein  doth  it  concern  Francis  Bacon?" 

"To  speak  plainly,  then,  sir,  I  saw  your  play  of 
the  vengeful  Jew  and  good  Master  Antonio.  What ! 
Have  I  struck  home!" 

She  leaned  against  the  wall  with  her  hands  behind 
her  and  looked  up  at  him  triumphantly.  To  her  con 
fusion,  no  answering  gleam  illumined  the  young 
man's  darkling  eyes. 

"Struck  home!"  he  exclaimed,  shaking  his  head 
querulously.  "Perhaps — but  where?  Do  you  per 
chance  make  a  mock  of  me,  Mistress — Mistress ?" 

She  replied  to  the  inquiry  in  his  manner  and  tone 
with  disappointment  in  her  voice: 

"Mistress  Mary  Burton,  sir,  at  your  service." 

Bacon  started  back  a  step  and  a  new  and  eager 
light  leaped  into  his  eyes. 

202 


PHCEBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

"The  daughter  of  Isaac  Burton?"  he  cried,  "soon 
to  be  Sir  Isaac?" 

"The  same,  sir.    Do  you  know  my  father?" 

"Ay,  indeed.    'Twas  to  seek  him  I  came  hither." 

Then,  starting  forward,  Bacon  poured  forth  in 
eager  accents  a  full  account  of  his  meeting  with 
Droop  in  the  deserted  grove — of  how  they  two  had 
conspired  to  evade  the  bailiffs,  and  of  his  reasons  for 
borrowing  Droop's  clothing. 

"Conceive,  then,  my  plight,  dear  lady,"  he  con 
cluded,  "when,  on  reaching  London,  I  found  that  the 
few  coins  which  remained  to  me  had  been  left  in  the 
clothes  which  I  gave  to  this  Droop,  and  I  have  come 
hither  to  implore  the  temporary  aid  of  your  good 
father." 

"But  he  hath  gone  into  London,  Master  Bacon," 
said  Phoebe.  "It  is  most  like  he  will  not  return  ere 
to-morrow  even." 

Droop's  hat  dropped  from  Bacon's  relaxed  grasp 
and  he  seemed  to  wilt  in  his  speechless  despair. 

Phoebe's  sympathy  was  awakened  at  once,  but  her 
anxiety  to  know  more  of  the  all-important  question 
of  authorship  was  perhaps  the  keenest  of  her  emo 
tions. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "  'tis  a  little  matter  that 
needs  not  my  father,  methinks.  If  ten  pounds  will 
serve  you,  I  should  deem  it  an  honor  to  provide 
them." 

Kevived  by  hope,  he  drew  himself  up  briskly  as 
he  replied: 

203 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Why,  'twill  do  marvellous  well,  Mistress  Mary — 
marvellous  well — nor  shall  repayment  be  delayed, 
upon  my  honor!" 

"Nay,  call  it  a  fee,"  she  replied,  "and  give  me,  I 
beg  of  you,  a  legal  opinion  in  return." 

Bacon  stooped  to  pick  up  the  hat,  from  which  he 
brushed  the  dust  with  his  hand  as  he  replied,  with 
dubious  slowness,  looking  down: 

"Why,  in  sooth,  mistress,  I  am  used  to  gain  a 
greater  honorarium.  As  a  barrister  of  repute,  mine 
opinions  in  writing " 

"Ah,  then,  I  fear  my  means  are  too  small!"  Phoebe 
broke  in,  with  a  smile.  "  "Pis  a  pity,  too,  for  the 
matter  is  simple,  I  verily  believe." 

Bacon  saw  that  he  must  retract  or  lose  all,  and  he 
went  on  with  some  haste : 

"Perchance  'tis  not  an  opinion  in  writing  that  is 
required,"  he  said. 

"Nay — nay;  your  spoken  word  will  suffice,  Master 
Bacon." 

"In  that  case,  then " 

She  drew  ten  gold  pieces  from  her  purse  and 
dropped  them  into  his  extended  palm.  Then,  seat 
ing  herself  upon  a  bench  against  the  wall  hard  by, 
she  said: 

"The  case  is  this:  If  a  certain  merchant  borrow 
a  large  sum  from  a  Jew  in  expectation  of  the  speedy 
arrival  of  a  certain  argosy  of  great  treasure,  and  if 
the  merchant  give  his  bond  for  the  sum,  the  penalty 
of  the  bond  being  one  pound  of  flesh  from  the  body 

204 


PH(EBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

of  the  merchant,  and  if  then  the  argosies  founder 
and  the  bond  be  forfeit,  may  the  Jew  recover  the 
pound  of  flesh  and  cut  it  from  the  body  of  the  mer 
chant?" 

As  she  concluded,  Phoebe  leaned  forward  and 
watched  her  companion's  face  earnestly,  hoping  that 
he  would  betray  his  hidden  interest  in  this  Shake 
spearian  problem  by  some  look  or  sign. 

The  face  into  which  she  gazed  was  grave  and  judi 
cial  and  the  reply  was  a  ready  one. 

"Assuredly  not!  Such  a  bond  were  contrary  to 
public  policy  and  void  ab  initio.  The  case  is  not  one 
for  hesitancy;  'tis  clear  and  certain.  No  court  in 
Christendom  would  for  a  moment  lend  audience  to 
the  Jew.  Why,  to  uphold  the  bond  were  to  license 
murder.  True,  the  victim  hath  to  this  consented; 
but  'tis  doctrine  full  well  proven  and  determined, 
that  no  man  can  give  valid  consent  to  his  own  mur 
der.  Were  this  otherwise,  suicide  were  clearly  law 
ful." 

"Oh!"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  as  this  new  view  of  the 
subject  was  presented  to  her.  "Then  the  Duke  of 
Venice " 

She  broke  off  and  hurried  into  new  questioning. 

"Another  opinion  hath  been  given  me,"  she  said. 
"  'Twas  urged  that  the  Jew  could  have  his  pound  of 
flesh,  for  so  said  the  bond,  but  that  he  might  shed 
no  blood  in  the  cutting,  blood  not  being  men 
tioned  in  the  bond,  and  that  his  goods  were  for 
feit  did  he  cut  more  or  less  than  a  pound,  by  so 

205 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

much  as  the  weight  of  a  hair.  Think  you  this  be 
law?" 

Still  could  she  see  no  shadow  in  Bacon's  face  be 
traying  consciousness  that  there  was  more  in  her 
words  than  met  the  ear. 

"No — no!"  he  replied,  somewhat  contemptuously. 
"If  that  A  make  promise  of  a  chose  tangible  to  B 
and  the  promise  fall  due,  B  may  have  not  only  that 
which  was  promised,  but  all  such  matters  and  things 
accessory  as  must,  by  the  very  nature  of  the  agreed 
transfer,  be  attached  to  the  thing  promised.  As,  if 
I  sell  a  calf,  I  may  not  object  to  his  removal  because, 
forsooth,  some  portion  of  earth  from  my  land  cling- 
eth  to  his  hoofs.  So  blood  is  included  in  the  word 
'flesh'  where  'twere  impossible  to  deliver  the  flesh 
without  some  blood.  As  for  that  quibble  of  nor 
more  nor  less,  why,  'tis  the  debtor's  place  to  deliver 
his  promise.  If  he  himself  cut  off  too  much,  he  in 
jures  himself,  if  too  little  he  hath  not  made  good 
his  covenant." 

Complete  conviction  seemed  to  spring  upon 
Phoebe,  as  though  it  had  been  something  visible  to 
startle  her.  It  shook  off  her  old  English  self  for  a 
moment,  and  she  leaped  to  her  feet,  exclaiming: 

"Well,  there  now !  That  settles  that !  I  guess  if 
anybody  wrote  Shakespeare,  it  wasn't  Bacon!" 

The  astonishment — almost  alarm — in  her  com 
panion's  face  filled  her  with  amusement,  and  her 
happy  laugh  rang  through  the  echoing  halls. 

"Many,  many  gracious  thanks,  good  Master 
206 


PH(EBE  AT  THE  PEACOCK  INN 

Bacon!"  she  exclaimed.  "Right  well  have  you  earned 
your  honorarium.  And  now,  ere  you  depart,  may 
I  make  bold  to  urge  one  last  request?" 

With  a  bow  the  young  man  expressed  his  acqui 
escence. 

"If  I  mistake  not,  you  will  return  forthwith  to 
Master  Droop,  to  the  end  that  you  may  regain  your 
proper  garb,  will  you  not?" 

"That  is  my  intention." 

"Then  I  pray  you,  good  Master  Bacon,  deliver 
this  message  to  Master  Droop  from  one  Phoebe  Wise, 
an  acquaintance  of  his  whom  I  know  well.  Tell  him 
he  must  have  all  in  readiness  for  flight  and  must  not 
leave  his  abode  until  she  come.  May  I  rely  on  your 
faithful  repetition  of  this  to  him?" 

"Assuredly.  I  shall  forget  no  word  of  the  message 
wherewith  I  am  so  honored." 

"Tell  him  that  it  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  sir 
— of  life  and  death!" 

She  held  out  her  hand.  Bacon  pressed  his  lips  to 
the  dainty  fingers  and  then,  jamming  the  hard  Derby 
hat  as  far  down  over  his  long  locks  as  possible,  he 
stepped  forth  once  more  into  the  courtyard. 


20T 


CHAPTER   X 

HOW    THE    QUEEN    BEAD    HER    NEWSPAPEB 

For  Rebecca,  left  alone  in  the  goldsmiths'  city 
house,  the  past  night  and  day  had  been  a  period  of 
perplexity.  She  had  been  saved  from  any  serious 
anxiety  by  the  arrival  of  a  messenger  soon  after 
Phoebe's  departure,  who  had  brought  her  word  that 
her  "mistress"  was  safe  in  the  Peacock  Inn,  and  had 
left  a  verbal  message  commanding  her  to  come  with 
him  at  once  to  rejoin  her. 

This  command  she  naturally  refused  to  comply 
with,  and  sent  word  to  the  much-puzzled  man-servant 
that  she  wasn't  to  be  "bossed  around"  by  her  young 
er  sister,  and  that  if  Phoebe  wanted  to  see  her  she 
knew  where  to  find  her.  This  message  was  deliv 
ered  to  old  Mistress  Burton,  who  refrained  from 
repeating  it  to  her  step-daughter.  For  her  own 
ends,  she  thought  it  best  to  keep  Mistress  Mary 
from  her  nurse,  whose  influence  seemed  invariably 
opposed  to  her  own. 

Left  thus  alone,  Rebecca  had  had  a  hitherto  un 
equalled  opportunity  for  reflection,  and  the  result 
of  her  deliberations  was  most  practical.  Whatever 
might  be  said  of  the  inhabitants  of  London  in  gen- 

208 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

eral,  it  was  clear  to  her  mind  that  poor  Phoebe  was 
mentally  unbalanced. 

The  only  remedy  was  to  lure  her  into  the  Pan- 
chronicon,  and  regain  the  distant  home  they  ought 
never  to  have  left. 

The  first  step  to  be  taken  was  therefore  to  rejoin 
Copernicus  and  see  that  all  was  in  readiness.  It  was 
her  intention  then  to  seek  her  sister  and,  by  humor 
ing  her  delusion  and  exercising  an  appropriately  be 
nevolent  cunning,  to  induce  her  to  enter  the  convey 
ance  which  had  brought  them  both  into  this  disas 
trous  complication.  The  latter  part  of  this  pro 
gramme  was  not  definitely  formed  in  her  mind,  and 
when  she  sought  to  give  it  shape  she  found  herself 
appalled  both  by  its  difficulties  and  by  the  probable 
twists  that  her  conscience  would  have  to  undergo  in 
putting  her  plan  into  practice. 

"Well,  well!"  she  exclaimed  at  length.  "I'll  cross 
that  bridge  when  I  come  to  it.  The  fust  thing  is 
to  find  Copernicus  Droop." 

It  was  at  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  of 
the  day  after  Phoebe's  departure  that  Rebecca  came 
to  this  audible  conclusion,  and  she  arose  at  once  to 
don  her  jacket  and  bonnet.  This  accomplished,  she 
gathered  up  her  precious  satchel  and  umbrella  and 
approached  her  bed-room  window  to  observe  the 
weather. 

She  had  scarcely  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  muddy 
streets  below  her  when  she  uttered  a  cry  of  amaze 
ment. 

209 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Good  gracious  alive!  Ef  there  ain't  Copernicus 
right  this  minute!" 

Out  through  the  inner  hall  and  down  the  stairs 
she  hurried  with  short,  shuffling  steps,  impatient  of 
the  clinging  rushes  on  the  floor.  Speechless  she  ran 
past  good  Mistress  Goldsmith,  who  called  after  her 
in  vain.  The  only  reply  was  the  slam  of  the  front 
door. 

Once  in  the  street,  Rebecca  glanced  sharply  up  and 
down.  The  man  she  sought  was  not  in  sight,  but 
she  shrewdly  counted  upon  his  having  turned  into 
Leadenhall  Street,  toward  which  she  had  seen  him 
walking.  Thither  she  hurried,  and  to  her  infinite 
gratification  she  saw,  about  a  hundred  yards  ahead, 
the  unmistakable  trousers,  coat,  and  Derby  hat  so 
familiar  on  the  person  of  Copernicus  Droop. 

"Hey!"  she  cried.  "Hey,  there,  Mister  Droop! 
Copernicus  Droop!" 

She  ended  with  a  shrill,  far-carrying,  long-drawn 
call  that  sounded  much  like  a  "whoop."  Evidently 
he  heard  her,  for  he  started,  looked  over  his  shoul 
der,  and  then  set  off  with  redoubled  speed,  as  though 
anxious  to  avoid  her. 

She  stopped  short  for  a  moment,  paralyzed  with 
astonishment. 

"Well!"  she  exclaimed.  "If  I  ever!  I  suppose 
it's  a  case  of  'the  wicked  flee,'  but  he  can't  get  away 
from  me  as  easy  's  that." 

And  then  began  a  race  the  like  of  which  was  never 
seen  before.  In  advance,  Francis  Bacon  scurried 

210 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

forward  as  fast  as  he  dared  without  running,  dread 
ing  the  added  publicity  his  rapid  progress  was  sure 
to  bring  upon  him,  yet  dreading  even  more  to  be 
overtaken  by  this  amazing  female  apparition,  in 
whose  accents  and  intonation  he  recognized  another 
of  the  Droop  species. 

Behind  Bacon  came  Rebecca,  conspicuous  enough 
in  her  prim  New  England  gown  and  bonneted  head, 
but  doubly  remarkable  as  she  skipped  from  stone  to 
stone  to  avoid  the  mud  and  filth  of  the  unpaved 
streets,  and  swinging  in  one  hand  her  little  black 
satchel  and  in  the  other  her  faithful  umbrella. 

From  time  to  time  she  called  aloud:  "Hey,  stop 
there!  Copernicus  Droop!  Stop,  I  say!  It's  only 
Rebecca  Wise!" 

The  race  would  have  been  a  short  one,  indeed, 
had  she  not  found  it  impossible  to  ignore  the  puddles, 
rubbish  heaps,  and  other  obstacles  which  half-filled 
the  streets  and  obstructed  her  path  at  every  turn. 
Bacon,  who  was  accustomed  to  these  conditions 
and  had  no  impeding  skirts  to  check  him,  managed, 
therefore,  to  hold  his  own  without  actually  run 
ning. 

These  two  were  not  long  left  to  themselves.  Such 
a  progress  could  not  take  place  in  the  heart  of  Eng 
land's  capital  without  forming  in  its  train  an  ever 
growing  suite  of  the  idle  and  curious.  Ere  long  a 
rabble  of  street-walkers,  beggars,  pick-pockets,  and 
loafers  were  stamping  behind  Rebecca,  repeating  her 
shrill  appeals  with  coarse  variations,  and  assailing  her 

211 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

with  jokes  which,  fortunately  for  her,  were  worded 
in  terms  which  her  New  England  ears  could  not  com 
prehend. 

In  this  order  the  two  strangely  clad  beings  hur 
ried  down  toward  the  Thames;  he  in  the  hope  of 
finding  a  waterman  who  should  carry  him  beyond 
the  reach  of  his  dreaded  persecutors;  she  counting 
upon  the  river,  which  she  knew  to  lie  somewhere 
ahead,  to  check  the  supposed  Copernicus  in  his  obsti 
nate  flight. 

To  the  right  they  turned,  through  St.  Clement's 
Lane  into  Crooked  Lane,  and  the  ever-growing  mob 
clattered  noisily  after  them,  shouting  and  laughing 
a  gleeful  chorus  to  her  occasional  solo. 

Leaving  Eastcheap  and  its  grimy  tenements,  they 
emerged  from  New  Fish  Street  and  saw  the  gleam 
of  the  river  ahead  of  them. 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  following  crowd,  more 
enterprising  than  his  fellows,  ran  close  up  behind 
Rebecca  and,  clutching  the  edge  of  her  jacket,  sought 
to  restrain  her. 

"Toll,  lass,  toll!"  he  shouted.  "Who  gave  thee 
leave  to  run  races  in  London  streets?" 

Rebecca  became  suddenly  fully  conscious  for  the 
first  time  of  the  sensation  she  had  created.  Stop 
ping  short,  she  swung  herself  free  and  looked  her 
bold  assailant  fairly  in  the  face. 

"Well,  young  feller,"  she  said,  with  icy  dignity, 
"what  can  I  do  fer  you?" 

The  loafer  fell  back  as  she  turned,  and  when  she 
212 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

had  spoken,  he  turned  in  mock  alarm  and  fled,  crying 
as  he  ran: 

"Save  us — save  us!  Ugly  and  old  as  a  witch,  I 
trow!" 

Those  in  the  background  caught  his  final  words 
and  set  up  a  new  cry  which  boded  Rebecca  no  good. 

"A  witch — a  witch!     Seize  her!     Stone  her!" 

As  they  now  hung  back  momentarily  in  a  new 
dread,  self-created  in  their  superstitious  minds,  Re 
becca  turned  again  to  the  chase,  but  was  sorely  put 
out  to  find  that  her  pause  had  given  the  supposed 
Droop  the  advantage  of  a  considerable  gain.  He 
was  now  not  far  from  the  river  side.  Hoping  he 
could  go  no  farther,  she  set  off  once  more  in  pursuit, 
observing  silence  in  order  to  save  her  breath. 

She  would  apparently  have  need  of  it  to  save  her 
self,  for  the  stragglers  in  her  wake  were  now  impelled 
by  a  more  dangerous  motive  than  mere  curiosity  or 
mischief.  The  cry  of  "Witch"  had  awakened  cruel 
depths  in  their  breasts,  and  they  pressed  forward  in 
close  ranks  with  less  noise  and  greater  menace  than 
before. 

Two  or  three  rough  fellows  paused  to  kick  stones 
loose  from  the  clay  of  the  streets,  and  in  a  few  mo 
ments  the  all-unconscious  Rebecca  would  have  found 
herself  in  a  really  terrible  predicament  but  for  an 
accident  seemingly  without  bearing  upon  her  circum 
stances. 

Without  warning,  someone  in  the  upper  story  of 
one  of  the  houses  near  by  threw  from  a  window  a 

213 


pail  of  dirty  water,  which  fell  with  a  startling  splash 
a  few  feet  in  front  of  Rebecca. 

She  stopped  in  alarm  and  looked  up  severely. 

"I  declare  to  goodness!  I  b'lieve  the  folks  in  this 
town  are  all  plumb  crazy!  Sech  doin's!  The  idea 
of  throwin'  slops  out  onto  the  road !  Why,  the  Ka- 
nucks  wouldn't  do  that  in  New  Hampshire!" 

Slipping  her  bag  onto  her  left  wrist,  she  loosened 
the  band  of  her  umbrella  and  shook  the  ribs  free. 

"Lucky  I  brought  my  umbrella!"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  guess  it'll  be  safer  fer  me  to  h'ist  this,  ef  things  is 
goin'  to  come  out  o'  windows!" 

All  unknown  to  her,  two  or  three  of  the  rabble 
behind  her  were  in  the  act  of  poising  themselves  with 
great  stones  in  their  hands,  and  their  muscles  were 
stiffening  for  a  cast  when,  just  in  the  nick  of  time, 
the  obstinate  snap  yielded,  and  with  a  jerk  the  um 
brella  spread  itself. 

Turning  the  wide-spread  gloria  skyward,  Rebecca 
hurried  forward  once  more,  still  bent  upon  overtak 
ing  Copernicus  Droop. 

That  simple  act  saved  her. 

A  mere  inactive  witch  was  one  thing — a  thing 
scarce  distinguishable  from  any  other  old  woman. 
But  this  transformation  of  a  black  wand  into  a  wide- 
spreading  tent  was  so  obviously  the  result  of  magic, 
that  it  was  self-evident  they  had  to  do  with  a  witch 
in  full  defensive  and  offensive  state. 

Stones  fell  from  deadened  hands  and  the  threaten 
ing  growls  and  cries  were  lost  in  a  unanimous  gasp 

214 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

of  alarm.  A  moment's  pause  and  then — utter  rout. 
There  was  a  mad  stampede  and  in  a  trice  the  street 
was  empty.  Rebecca  was  alone  under  that  inoffen 
sive  guardian  umbrella. 

To  her  grief,  she  found  no  one  on  the  river's  brim. 
He  whom  she  sought  was  half-way  across,  his  con 
veyance  the  only  wherry  in  sight,  apparently.  Hav 
ing  passed  beyond  the  houses,  Rebecca  now  folded 
her  umbrella  and  looked  carefully  about  her.  To 
her  great  relief,  she  caught  sight  of  a  man's  figure 
recumbent  on  a  stone  bench  near  at  hand.  A  pair 
of  oars  lay  by  him  and  betrayed  his  vocation. 

She  stepped  promptly  to  his  side  and  prodded  him 
with  her  umbrella. 

"Here,  mister!"  she  cried.  "Wake  up,  please. 
What  do  you  charge  for  ferryin'  folks  across  the 
river?" 

The  waterman  sat  up,  rubbed  his  eyes  and  yawned. 
Then,  without  looking  at  his  fare,  he  led  the  way 
to  his  boat  without  reply.  He  was  chary  of  words, 
and  after  all,  did  not  all  the  world  know  what  to 
pay  for  conveyance  to  South wark? 

Rebecca  gazed  after  him  for  a  moment  and  then, 
shaking  her  head  pityingly,  she  murmured : 

"Tut — tut!  Deef  an'  dumb,  poor  man!  Dear, 
dear!" 

To  hesitate  was  to  lose  all  hope  of  overtaking  the 
obstinate  Copernicus.  So,  first  pointing  vigorously 
after  the  retreating  boat  with  closed  umbrella,  and 
with  many  winks  and  nods  which  she  supposed  sup- 

215 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

plied  full  meaning  to  her  gestures,  she  stepped  into 
the  wherry,  and  the  two  at  once  glided  out  on  the 
placid  bosom  of  the  Thames. 

Far  different  was  the  spectacle  that  greeted  her 
then  from  that  which  may  now  be  witnessed  near 
London  Bridge.  In  those  days  that  bridge  was  alone 
visible,  not  far  to  the  East,  and  the  tide  that  moves 
now  so  darkly  between  stone  embankments  beneath 
a  myriad  of  grimy  steamers,  then  flowed  brightly 
between  low  banks  and  wooden  wharves,  bearing  a 
gliding  fleet  of  sailing-vessels.  To  the  south  were 
the  fields  and  woods  of  the  open  country,  save  where 
loomed  the  low  frame  houses  and  the  green-stained 
wharves  of  Southwark  village.  Behind  Rebecca  was 
a  vast  huddle  of  frame  buildings,  none  higher  than 
three  stories,  sharp  of  gable  overhanging  narrow 
streets,  while  here  a  tower  and  there  a  steeple  stood 
sentinel  over  the  common  herd.  To  the  east  the 
four  great  stone  cylinders  of  the  Tower,  frowning 
over  the  moving  world  at  their  feet,  loomed  grimly 
then  as  now. 

Rebecca  had  fixed  her  eyes  at  first  with  a  fasci 
nated  stare  on  this  mighty  mass  of  building,  pene 
trated  by  a  chill  of  fear,  although  ignorant  of  its 
tragic  significance.  Turning  after  a  minute  or  two 
from  contemplation  of  that  gloomy  monument  of 
tyrannical  power,  she  gazed  eagerly  forward  again, 
bent  upon  keeping  sight  of  the  man  she  was 
pursuing. 

He  and  his  boat  had  disappeared,  but  her  disap- 
216 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

pointment  was  at  once  lost  in  admiring  stupefaction 
as  she  gazed  upon  a  magnificent  craft  bearing  across 
the  bows  of  her  boat  and  coming  from  the  direction 
of  Westminster. 

The  hull,  painted  white,  was  ornamented  with  a 
bold  arabesque  of  gilding  which  seemed  to  flow  nat 
urally  in  graceful  lines  from  the  garment  of  a  golden 
image  of  Victory  mounted  high  on  the  towering 
prow. 

From  the  deck  at  the  front  and  back  rose  two  large 
cabins  whose  sides  were  all  of  brilliant  glass  set  be 
tween  narrow  panels  on  which  were  paintings,  which 
Rebecca  could  not  clearly  distinguish  from  where 
she  was  sitting. 

At  the  waist,  between  and  below  the  cabins,  ten 
oars  protruded  from  each  side  of  the  barge,  flash 
ing  rhythmically  as  they  swept  forward  together, 
seeming  to  sprinkle  drops  of  sunlight  into  the 
river. 

The  splendor  of  this  apparition,  contrasting  as  it 
did  with  the  small  and  somewhat  dingy  craft  other 
wise  visible  above  the  bridge,  gave  a  new  direction 
to  Rebecca's  thoughts  and  forced  from  her  an  almost 
involuntary  exclamation. 

"For  the  lands  sakes!"  she  murmured.  "Whoever 
in  the  world  carries  on  in  sech  style  's  that!" 

The  waterman  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and  no 
sooner  caught  sight  of  the  glittering  barge  than,  with 
a  powerful  push  of  his  oars,  he  backed  water  and 
brought  his  little  boat  to  a  stand. 

217 


THE   PANCHRONICON 

"The  Queen!"  he  exclaimed. 

Rebecca  glanced  at  the  boatman  with  slightly 
raised  brows. 

"Thought  you  was  deef  an'  dumb,"  she  said.  Then, 
turning  once  more  to  the  still  approaching  barge,  she 
continued:  "An'  so  thet's  Queen  Victoria's  ship,  is 
it?" 

"Victoria!"  growled  the  waterman.  "Ye  seem  as 
odd  in  speech  as  in  dress,  mistress.  Who  gave  ye 
license  to  miscall  our  glorious  sovereign?" 

Rebecca's  brows  were  knit  in  a  thoughtful  frown 
and  she  scarce  knew  what  her  companion  said.  The 
approach  of  the  Queen  suggested  a  new  plan  of  ac 
tion.  She  had  heard  of  queens  as  all-powerful  rulers, 
women  whose  commands  would  be  obeyed  at  once 
and  without  question,  in  small  and  personal  things 
as  in  matters  of  greater  moment.  Of  Queen  Vic 
toria,  too,  some  accounts  had  reached  her,  and  all 
had  been  in  confirmation  of  that  ruler's  justice  and 
goodness  of  heart. 

Rebecca's  new  plan  was  therefore  to  appeal  at  once 
to  this  benign  sovereign  for  aid,  entreat  her  to  com 
mand  the  Burtons  to  release  Phoebe  and  to  order 
Copernicus  Droop  to  carry  both  sisters  back  to  their 
New  England  home.  This  course  recommended  it 
self  strongly  to  the  strictly  honest  Rebecca,  because 
it  eliminated  at  once  all  necessity  for  "humoring" 
Phoebe's  madness,  with  its  implied  subterfuges  and 
equivocations.  The  moment  was  propitious  for  mak 
ing  an  attempt  which  could  at  least  do  no  harm,  she 

218 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

thought.  She  determined  to  carry  out  the  plan 
which  had  occurred  to  her. 

Standing  up  in  the  boat:  "What's  the  Queen's  last 
name?"  she  asked. 

"Be  seated,  woman!"  growled  the  waterman,  who 
was  growing  uneasy  at  sight  of  the  increasing  eccen 
tricity  of  his  fare.  "The  Queen's  name  is  Elizabeth, 
as  well  ye  know,"  he  concluded,  more  gently.  He 
hoped  to  soothe  the  woman's  frenzy  by  concessions. 

"Now,  mister,"  said  Rebecca,  severely,  "don't  you 
be  sassy  to  me,  fer  I  won't  stand  it.  Of  course,  I 
don't  want  her  first  name — she  ain't  hired  help. 
What's  the  Queen's  family  name — quick!" 

The  waterman,  now  convinced  that  his  fare  was  a 
lunatic,  could  think  of  naught  better  than  to  use 
soothing  tones  and  to  reply  promptly,  however  ab 
surd  her  questions.  "I'  faith,"  he  said,  in  a  mild 
voice,  "I'  faith,  mistress,  her  Gracious  Majesty  is  of 
the  line  of  Tudor.  Methought " 

But  he  broke  off  in  horror. 

Waving  her  umbrella  high  above  her  head,  Re 
becca,  still  standing  upright  in  the  boat,  was  calling 
at  the  top  of  her  voice : 

"Hallo  there!  Mrs.  Tudor!  Stop  the  ship,  will 
ye!  I  want  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Tudor  a  minute!" 

All  nature  seemed  to  shiver  and  shrink  in  silence 
at  this  enormous  breach  of  etiquette — to  use  a  mild 
term.  Involuntarily  the  ten  pairs  of  oars  in  the 
royal  barge  hung  in  mid-air,  paralyzed  by  that  sud 
den  outrage.  The  great,  glittering  structure,  im- 

219 


THE   PANCHRONICON 

pelled  by  momentum,  glided  forward  directly  under 
the  bows  of  Rebecca's  boat  and  not  a  hundred  yards 
away. 

Again  Rebecca's  cry  was  borne  shrill  and  clear 
across  the  water. 

"Hallo!  Hallo  there!  Ain't  Mrs.  Tudor  on  the 
ship?  I  want  to  speak  to  her!"  Then,  turning  to 
the  stupefied  and  trembling  waterman: 

"Why  don't  you  row,  you?  What's  the  matter, 
anyway?  Don't  ye  see  they've  stopped  to  wait  fer 
us?" 

Someone  spoke  within  the  after  cabin.  The  com 
mand  was  repeated  in  gruff  tones  by  a  man's  voice, 
and  the  ten  pairs  of  oars  fell  as  one  into  the  water 
and  were  held  rigid  to  check  the  progress  of  the 
barge. 

"Wherry,  ahoy!"  a  hail  came  from  the  deck. 

"Ay,  ay,  sir!"  the  waterman  cried. 

"Come  alongside!" 

"Ay,  ay,  sir!" 

Pale  and  weak  with  dread,  the  boatman  pulled  as 
well  as  he  could  toward  the  splendid  vessel  ahead, 
while  Rebecca  resumed  her  seat,  quite  satisfied  that 
all  was  as  it  should  be. 

A  few  strokes  of  the  oars  brought  them  to  the 
barge's  side,  and  Rebecca's  waterman  threw  a  rope 
to  one  of  the  crew. 

A  young  man  in  uniform  glowered  down  upon 
them,  and  to  him  the  waterman  turned,  pulling  off 
his  cap  and  speaking  with  the  utmost  humility. 

220 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

"The  jade  is  moon-struck,  your  worship!"  he  ex 
claimed,  eagerly.  "I  would  not  for  a  thousand 
pound — 

"Moon-struck!"  snapped  the  lieutenant.  "Who 
gave  thee  commission  to  ferry  madmen,  fellow?" 

The  poor  waterman,  at  his  wits'  end,  was  about 
to  reply  when  Rebecca  interposed. 

"Young  man,"  she  said,  standing  up,  "I'll  thank 
you  to  'tend  to  business.  Is  Mrs.  Victoria  Tudor  at 
home?" 

At  this  moment  a  young  gentleman,  magnificently 
apparelled,  stepped  forth  from  the  after  cabin  and 
approached  the  man  in  uniform. 

"Lieutenant,"  he  said,  "her  Majesty  commands 
that  the  woman  be  brought  before  her  in  person. 
As  for  you,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  waterman, 
"return  whence  you  came,  and  choose  your  fares  bet 
ter  henceforth." 

Two  of  the  barge's  crew  extended  each  a  hand 
to  Rebecca. 

"Bend  onto  that,  Poll!"  said  one,  grinning. 

"Well,  I  declare!"  exclaimed  Rebecca.  "I  never 
see  sech  impident  help  in  all  my  born  days!  Ain't 
ye  got  any  steps  for  a  body  to  climb?" 

A  second  gorgeously  dressed  attendant  backed 
hastily  out  of  the  cabin. 

"Look  alive!"  he  said,  peremptorily.  "Her  Majes 
ty  waxes  impatient.  Where  is  the  woman?" 

"Ay,  ay,  sir!"  replied  the  sailors.    "Here  she  be!" 

They  leaned  far  forward  and,  grasping  the  aston- 
221 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

ished  Rebecca  each  by  a  shoulder,  lifted  her  quickly 
over  the  rail. 

The  first  gentleman  messenger  beckoned  to  her 
and  started  toward  the  cabin. 

"Follow  me!"  he  said,  curtly. 

Rebecca  straightened  her  skirt  and  bonnet,  shook 
her  umbrella,  and  turned  quietly  to  the  rail,  fumbling 
with  the  catch  of  her  bag. 

"I  pity  yer  manners,  young  man!"  she  said,  cold 
ly.  Then,  with  some  dismay: 

"Here  you,  mister,  don't  ye  want  yer  money?" 

But  the  waterman,  only  too  glad  to  escape  at  all 
from  being  involved  in  her  fate,  was  pulling  back  to 
the  northern  shore  as  fast  as  his  boat  would  go. 

"Suit  yourself,"  said  Rebecca,  simply.  "Saves  me 
a  dime,  I  guess." 

Turning  then  to  the  impatient  gentleman  waiting 
at  the  door: 

"Guess  you're  one  o'  the  family,  ain't  ye?  Is  your 
ma  in,  young  man?" 

Fortunately  her  full  meaning  was  not  compre 
hended,  and  the  person  addressed  contented  himself 
with  drawing  aside  the  heavy  curtain  of  cloth  of  gold 
and  motioning  to  Rebecca  to  precede  him. 

She  nodded  graciously  and  passed  into  the  cabin. 

"That's  better,"  she  said,  with  an  ingratiating 
smile.  "Good  manners  never  did  a  mite  o'  harm, 
did  they?" 

Before  following  her,  the  messenger  turned  again 
to  the  young  lieutenant. 

222 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

"Give  way!"  lie  said. 

At  once  the  sweeps  fell  together,  and  the  great 
barge  resumed  its  course  down  the  river. 

As  Rebecca  entered  the  glass  and  gold  enclosure, 
she  was  at  first  quite  dazzled  by  the  crowd  of  gor 
geously  arrayed  courtiers  who  stood  in  two  compact 
groups  on  either  side  of  her.  Young  and  old  alike,  all 
these  men  of  the  sword  and  cloak  seemed  vying  one 
with  another  for  precedence  in  magnificence  and 
foppery.  The  rarest  silks  of  every  hue  peeped  forth 
through  slashed  velvets  and  satins  whose  rustling 
masses  bedecked  men  of  every  age  and  figure.  Paint 
ed  faces  and  ringed  ears  everywhere  topped  snowy 
ruffles  deep  and  wide,  while  in  every  hand, 
scented  gloves,  fans,  or  like  toys  amused  the  idle 
fingers. 

In  the  background  Rebecca  was  only  vaguely  con 
scious  of  a  group  of  ladies  in  dresses  of  comparatively 
sober  pattern  and  color;  but  seated  upon  a  luxurious 
cushioned  bench  just  in  front  of  the  others,  one  of 
her  sex  struck  Rebecca  at  once  as  the  very  centre 
and  climax  of  the  magnificence  that  surrounded  her. 

Here  sat  Elizabeth,  the  vain,  proud,  tempestuous 
daughter  of  "bluff  King  Hal."  Already  an  old 
woman,  she  yet  affected  the  dress  and  carriage  of 
young  maidenhood,  possessing  unimpaired  the  van 
ity  of  a  youthful  beauty,  and,  despite  her  growing 
ugliness,  commanding  the  gallant  attentions  that 
gratified  and  supported  that  vanity. 

Her  face,  somewhat  long  and  thin,  was  carefully 
223 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

painted,  but  not  so  successfully  as  to  hide  the  many 
wrinkles  traced  there  by  her  sixty-five  years.  Her 
few  blackened  teeth  and  her  false  red  hair  seemed 
to  be  mocked  by  the  transcendent  lustre  of  the  rich 
pearl  pendants  in  her  ears.  Her  thin  lips,  hooked 
nose,  and  small  black  eyes  betokened  suppressed  an 
ger  as  she  glared  upon  her  admiring  visitor;  but,  far 
from  being  alarmed  by  the  Queen's  expression,  Re 
becca  was  only  divided  between  her  admiration  of 
her  magnificent  apparel  and  blushing  uneasiness  at 
sight  of  the  frankly  uncovered  bosom  which  Eliza 
beth  exhibited  by  right  of  her  spinsterhood.  Re 
becca  remembered  ever  afterward  how  she  wished 
that  "all  those  men"  would  sink  through  the  floor 
of  the  cabin. 

The  Queen  was  at  first  both  angry  at  the  unheard- 
of  language  Rebecca  had  used,  and  curious  to  see 
what  manner  of  woman  dared  so  to  express  herself. 
But  now  that  she  set  eyes  upon  the  outlandish  garb 
of  her  prisoner,  her  curiosity  grew  at  the  expense  of 
her  wrath,  and  she  sat  silent  for  some  time  while 
her  little  black  eyes  sought  to  explore  the  inmost 
depths  of  Rebecca's  mind. 

Rebecca,  for  her  part,  was  quite  unconscious  of 
having  infringed  any  of  the  rules  of  courtly  eti 
quette,  and,  without  expressing  her  belief  in  her 
complete  social  equality  with  the  Queen  or  anyone 
else  present,  was  so  entirely  convinced  of  this  equal 
ity  that  she  would  have  deemed  a  statement  of  it 
ridiculously  superfluous. 

224 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

For  a  few  moments  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
open  space  immediately  before  the  Queen,  partly 
dazed  and  bewildered  into  silence,  partly  expectant 
of  some  remark  from  her  hostess. 

At  length,  observing  the  grimly  rigid  aspect  of 
the  silent  Queen,  Rebecca  straightened  herself  prim 
ly  and  remarked,  with  her  most  formal  air:  "I  s'pose 
you  are  the  Queen,  ma'am.  You  seem  to  be  havin' 
a  little  party  jest  now.  I  hope  I'm  not  intruding 
but  to  tell  ye  the  truth,  Mrs.  Tudor,  I've  got  into 
a  pretty  pickle  and  I  want  to  ask  a  little  favor  of 
you."  ' 

She  looked  about  to  right  and  left  as  though  in 
search  of  something. 

"Don't  seem  to  be  any  chairs  around,  only  yours," 
she  continued.  Then,  with  a  quick  gesture  of  the 
hand:  "No,  don't  get  up.  Set  right  still  now.  One 
o*  your  friends  here  can  get  me  a  chair,  I  guess,"  and 
she  looked  very  meaningly  into  the  face  of  a  foppish 
young  courtier  who  stood  near  her,  twisting  his  thin 
yellow  beard. 

At  this  moment  the  rising  wonder  of  the  Queen 
reached  a  climax,  and  she  burst  into  speech  with  char 
acteristic  emphasis. 

"What  the  good  jere!"  she  cried.  "Hath  some 
far  planet  sent  us  a  messenger.  The  dame  is  loyal 
in  all  her  fantasy.  Say,  my  Lord  of  Nottingham, 
hath  the  woman  a  frenzy,  think  you?" 

The  gentleman  addressed  stood  near  the  Queen 
and  was  conspicuous  for  his  noble  air.  His  prominent 

225 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

gray  eyes  under  rounded  brows  lighted  up  a  long, 
oval  face  surmounted  by  a  high,  bald  forehead.  The 
long  nose  was  aquiline,  and  the  generous,  full-lipped 
mouth  was  only  half  hidden  by  a  neatly  trimmed 
full  blond  beard.  Rebecca  noticed  his  dress  particu 
larly  as  he  stepped  forward  at  the  Queen's  summons, 
and  marvelled  at  the  two  doublets  and  heavy  cape 
coat  over  which  hung  a  massive  gold  chain  support 
ing  the  brilliant  star  of  some  order.  She  wondered 
how  he  could  breathe  with  that  stiff  ruff  close  up 
under  his  chin  and  inclined  downward  from  back  to 
front. 

Dropping  on  one  knee,  Nottingham  began  his  re 
ply  to  the  Queen's  inquiry,  though  ere  he  finished 
his  sentence  he  rose  to  his  feet  again  at  a  gracious 
sign  from  his  royal  mistress. 

"May  it  please  your  Majesty,"  he  said,  "I  would 
humbly  crave  leave  to  remove  the  prisoner  from  a 
presence  she  hath  nor  wit  nor  will  to  reverence.  Ju 
dicial  inquiry,  in  form  appointed,  may  better  deter 
mine  than  my  poor  judgment  whether  she  be  mad 
or  bewitched." 

This  solemn  questioning  of  her  sanity  produced 
in  Rebecca's  mind  a  teasing  compound  of  wrath  and 
uneasiness.  These  people  seemed  to  find  something 
fundamentally  irregular  in  her  behavior.  What 
could  it  be?  The  situation  was  intolerable,  and  she 
set  to  work  in  her  straightforward,  energetic  way  to 
bring  it  to  an  end. 

Stepping  briskly  up  to  the  astonished  Earl  of  Not- 
226 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

tingham,  she  planted  herself  firmly  before  him,  turn 
ing  her  back  upon  Elizabeth. 

"Now  look  a-here,  Mr.  Nottingham,"  she  said,  se 
verely,  "I'd  like  to  know  what  in  the  world  you  see 
that's  queer  about  me  or  my  ways.  What's  the  mat 
ter,  anyway?  I  came  here  to  make  a  quiet  call  on 
that  lady,"  here  she  pointed  at  the  Queen  with  her 
umbrella,  "and  instead  of  anybody  bringin'  a  chair, 
or  sayin'  'How  d'ye  do,'  the  whole  raft  of  ye  hev 
done  nothin'  but  stare  or  call  me  loony.  I  s'pose 
you're  mad  because  I've  interrupted  your  party,  but 
didn't  that  man  there  invite  me  in?  Ef  you're  all 
so  dreadful  particler,  I'll  jest  get  out  o'  here  till  Mrs. 
Tudor  can  see  me  private.  I'll  set  outside,  ef  I  can 
find  a  chair." 

With  an  air  of  offended  dignity  she  stalked  toward 
the  door,  but  turned  ere  she  had  gone  ten  steps  and 
continued,  addressing  the  assembled  company  col 
lectively  : 

"As  fer  bein'  loony,  I  can  tell  you  this.  Ef  you 
was  where  I  come  from  in  America,  they'd  say  every 
blessed  one  of  ye  was  crazy  as  a  hen  with  her  head 
off." 

"America!"  exclaimed  the  Queen,  as  a  new 
thought  struck  her.  "America!  Tell  me,  dame, 
come  you  from  the  New  World?" 

"That's  what  it's  sometimes  called  in  the  geogra 
phies,"  Rebecca  stiffly  replied.  "I  come  from  Pelton- 
ville,  New  Hampshire,  myself.  Perhaps  I'd  ought 
to  introduce  myself.  My  name's  Rebecca  Wise, 

227- 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

daughter  of  Wilmot  and  Nancy  Wise,  both  de 
ceased." 

She  concluded  her  sentence  with  more  of  gracious- 
ness  than  she  had  shown  in  the  beginning,  and  the 
Queen,  now  fully  convinced  of  the  innocent  sincerity 
of  her  visitor,  showed  a  countenance  of  half-amused, 
half-eager  interest. 

"Why,  Sir  Walter,"  she  cried,  "this  cometh  within 
your  province,  methinks.  If  that  this  good  woman 
be  an  American,  you  should  be  best  able  to  parley 
with  her  and  learn  her  will." 

A  dark-haired,  stern-visaged  man  of  middle  height, 
dressed  less  extravagantly  than  his  fellows,  acknowl 
edged  this  address  by  advancing  and  bending  one 
knee  to  the  deck.  Here  was  no  longer  the  gay  young 
courtier  who  so  gallantly  spoiled  a  handsome  cloak 
to  save  his  sovereign's  shoes,  but  the  Raleigh  who 
had  fought  a  hundred  battles  for  the  same  mistress 
and  had  tasted  the  bitterness  of  her  jealous  cruelty 
in  reward. 

There  was  in  his  pose  and  manner,  however,  much 
of  that  old  grace  which  had  first  endeared  him  to 
Elizabeth,  and  even  now  served  to  fix  her  fickle  favor. 

"Most  fair  and  gracious  Majesty,"  he  said  in  a  low, 
well-modulated  voice,  turning  upward  a  seeming  fas 
cinated  eye,  "what  Walter  Raleigh  hath  learned  of 
any  special  knowledge  his  sovereign  hath  taught  him, 
and  all  that  he  is  is  hers  of  right." 

"  "Tis  well,  my  good  knight,"  said  Elizabeth,  beck 
oning  with  her  slender  finger  that  he  might  rise. 

228 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

"We  know  your  true  devotion  and  require  now  this 
service,  that  you  question  this  stranger  in  her  own 
tongue  concerning  her  errand  here  and  her  quality 
and  estate  at  home." 

As  Raleigh  rose  and  advanced  toward  Rebecca, 
without  turning  away  from  the  Queen,  the  half-be 
wildered  American  brought  the  end  of  her  umbrella 
sharply  down  upon  the  floor  with  a  gesture  of  impa 
tience. 

"What  everlastin'  play-actin'  ways!"  she  snapped. 
Then,  addressing  Sir  Walter:  "Say,  Mr.  Walter,"  she 
continued,  "ef  you  can't  walk  only  sideways,  you 
needn't  trouble  to  travel  clear  over  here  to  me.  I'll 
come  to  you." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  Rebecca  stepped 
briskly  forward  until  she  stood  in  front  of  the  rather 
crestfallen  courtier. 

He  rallied  promptly,  however,  and  marshalling  by 
an  effort  all  he  could  remember  of  the  language  of 
the  red  man,  he  addressed  the  astonished  Rebecca 
in  that  tongue. 

"What's  that?"  she  said. 

Again  Sir  Walter  poured  forth  an  unintelligible 
torrent  of  syllables  which  completed  Rebecca's  dis 
gust. 

With  a  pitying  smile,  she  folded  her  hands  across 
her  stomach. 

"Who's  loony  now?"  she  said,  quietly. 

Raleigh  gazed  helplessly  from  Rebecca  to  the 
Queen  and  back  again  from  the  Queen  to  Rebecca. 

229 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Elizabeth,  who  had  but  imperfectly  heard  what 
had  passed  between  the  two,  leaned  forward  impa 
tiently. 

"What  says  she,  Raleigh?"  she  demanded.  "Doth 
she  give  a  good  account?" 

"Good  my  liege,"  said  Raleigh,  with  a  despairing 
gesture,  "an  the  dame  be  from  America,  her  tribe 
and  race  must  needs  be  a  distant  one,  placed  remote 
from  the  coast.  The  natives  of  the  Floridas " 

"Florida!"  exclaimed  Rebecca.  "What  you  talkin' 
about,  anyway?  That's  away  down  South.  I  come 
from  New  Hampshire,  I  tell  you." 

"Know  you  that  region,  Raleigh?"  said  the  Queen, 
anxiously. 

Raleigh  shook  his  head  with  a  thoughtful  expres 
sion. 

"Way,  your  Majesty,"  he  replied.  "And  if  I  might 
venture  to  hint  my  doubts —  He  paused. 

"Well,  go  on,  man — go  on!"  said  the  Queen,  im 
patiently. 

"I  would  observe  that  the  name  is  an  English  one, 
and  'tis  scarce  credible  that  in  America,  where  our 
tongue  is  unknown,  any  region  can  be  named  for  an 
English  county." 

"Land  sakes!"  exclaimed  Rebecca,  in  growing 
amazement.  "Don't  know  English!  Why — don't 
I  talk  as  good  English  as  any  of  ye?  You 
don't  have  to  talk  Bible  talk  to  speak  English,  I  sh'd 
hope!" 

Elizabeth  frowned  and  settled  back  in  her  chair, 
230 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

turning  her  piercing  eyes  once  more  upon  her  mys 
terious  visitor. 

"Your  judgment  is  most  sound,  Sir  Walter,"  she 
said.  "In  sooth,  'twere  passing  strange  were  our 
own  tongue  to  be  found  among  the  savages  of  the 
New  World!  What  have  ye  to  say  to  this,  mis 
tress?" 

Rebecca  turned  her  eyes  from  one  to  the  other  of 
the  bystanders,  doubtful  at  first  whether  or  not  they 
were  all  in  a  conspiracy  to  mock  her.  Her  good 
sense  told  her  that  this  was  wellnigh  impossible,  and 
she  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  sheer  igno 
rance  was  the  only  explanation. 

"Well,  well!"  she  exclaimed  at  last.  "I've  heerd 
tell  about  how  simple  Britishers  was,  but  this  beats 
all !  Do  you  reely  mean  to  tell  me,"  she  continued, 
vehemently  nodding  her  head  at  the  Queen,  "that 
you  think  the's  nothin'  but  Indians  in  America?" 

A  murmur  of  indignation  spread  through  the  as 
sembly  caused  by  language  and  manners  so  little 
suited  to  the  address  of  royalty. 

"The  woman  hath  lost  her  wits!"  said  the  Queen, 
dryly. 

"There  'tis  again!"  said  Rebecca,  testily.  "Why, 
ef  it  comes  to  talk  of  simpletons  and  the  like,  I  guess 
the  pot  can't  call  the  kettle  black!" 

Elizabeth  gripped  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  leaned 
forward  angrily,  while  two  or  three  gentlemen  ad 
vanced,  watching  their  mistress  for  the  first  sign  of 
a  command.  At  the  same  moment,  a  triumphant 

231 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

thought  occurred  to  Rebecca,  and,  dropping  her  um 
brella,  she  opened  her  satchel  with  both  hands. 

"Ye  needn't  to  get  mad,  Mrs.  Tudor,"  she  said.  "I 
didn't  mean  any  offence,  but  I  guess  you  wouldn't 
like  to  be  called  a  lunatic  yerself.  See  here,"  she 
continued,  dragging  forth  a  section  of  the  newspaper 
which  she  had  brought  with  her,  "ef  you  folks  won't 
believe  my  word,  jest  look  at  this!  It's  all  here  in 
the  newspaper — right  in  print.  There!" 

She  held  the  paper  high  where  all  might  see,  and 
with  one  accord  Queen  and  courtiers  craned  forward 
eagerly,  burning  with  curiosity  at  sight  of  the  printed 
columns  interspersed  with  nineteenth-century  illus 
trations. 

Rebecca  stepped  forward  and  handed  the  paper 
to  the  Queen,  and  then,  drawing  forth  another  sec 
tion  from  her  bag,  she  carried  it  to  the  bewildered 
Raleigh,  who  took  it  like  one  in  a  trance. 

For  some  time  no  one  spoke.  Elizabeth  turned 
the  paper  this  way  and  that,  reading  a  bit  here  and 
a  bit  there,  and  gazing  spellbound  upon  the  enig 
matic  pictures. 

Having  completely  mastered  the  situation,  Re 
becca  now  found  time  to  consider  her  comfort.  Far 
on  one  side,  near  the  door  through  which  she  had 
entered,  there  stood  a  youth  of  perhaps  sixteen,  clad 
in  the  somewhat  fantastic  garb  of  a  page.  Having 
picked  up  her  umbrella,  Rebecca  approached  this 
youth  and  said  in  a  sharp  whisper: 

"Couldn't  you  get  me  a  chair,  sonny?" 
232 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

The  lad  disappeared  with  startling  promptitude, 
but  he  did  not  return.  It  was  an  agony  of  perplexity 
and  shyness  which  had  moved  him,  not  a  willingness 
to  serve. 

Rebecca  gazed  about  at  the  etiquette-bound  men 
and  women  around  her  and  muttered,  with  an  indig 
nant  snort  and  toss  of  the  head: 

"Set  o'  decorated  haystacks !" 

Then,  with  head  held  high  and  a  frigid  "Beg  par 
don,  mister!"  she  elbowed  her  way  through  the  dense 
throng  of  gentlemen-in-waiting  and  seated  herself  on 
the  bench  arranged  along  the  side  of  the  cabin. 

"Oof!"  she  exclaimed.  "Feel  's  though  my  legs 
would  drop  clear  off!" 

At  length  the  Queen  looked  up. 

"Why,  what  now!"  she  exclaimed.  "Whither  hath 
the  strange  woman  gone?" 

A  tall  man  dressed  in  black  and  gold  stepped  for 
ward  and  dropped  upon  one  knee.  He  had  a  long, 
humorous  face,  with  high  cheek  bones,  a  straight, 
good-humored  mouth,  with  a  high  mustache  well  off 
the  lip  and  a  pointed  beard.  The  eyes,  set  far  apart, 
twinkled  with  the  light  of  fun  as  he  awaited  permis 
sion  to  speak. 

"Well,  my  Lord  of  Southampton,"  said  the  Queen, 
kindly,  "I  doubt  some  gay  mischief  be  afoot.  Your 
face  tells  me  as  much,  my  lord." 

"Nay,  my  liege,"  was  the  humble  reply.  "Can  my 
face  so  far  forget  the  duty  owed  to  Royalty  as  to 
speak  thus,  not  being  first  admitted  to  discourse!" 

233 


Elizabeth  smiled  and  replied: 

"Even  so,  my  lord,  but  we  forgive  the  offence  if 
that  your  face  hath  spoken  truth.  Know  you  aught 
of  the  strange  woman?  Pray  be  standing." 

The  earl  arose  and  replied: 

"Of  her  rank  and  station,  she  must  be  a  queen  at 
least,  or  she  doth  forget  herself.  This  may  your 
Majesty  confirm  if  but  these  your  Majesty's  servants 
be  commanded  to  cross  the  room." 

Elizabeth,  puzzled,  bowed  her  head  slightly,  and 
the  courtiers  behind  whom  Rebecca  had  sought  rest 
walked  with  one  accord  to  the  other  side  of  the  cabin, 
revealing  to  the  astonished  eyes  of  the  Queen  her 
visitor  quietly  seated  upon  the  bench. 

Rebecca  nodded  with  a  pleased  look. 

"Well,  there!"  she  exclaimed.  "Much  obliged  to 
you  all.  That's  certainly  better." 

"Dame,"  said  Elizabeth,  sternly,  "is  this  the  re 
spect  you  show  to  them  above  you  in  America?" 

"Above  me !"  said  Rebecca,  straightening  up  stiffly. 
"There  ain't  anybody  put  above  me  at  home,  I  can 
tell  you.  Ef  the'  was,  I'd  put  'em  down  mighty 
quick,  I  guess." 

Elizabeth  raised  her  brows  and,  leaning  toward 
the  lord  treasurer,  who  stood  at  her  side,  she  said  in 
an  undertone: 

"This  must  be  some  sovereign  princess  in  her  own 
country,  my  lord.  How  comes  it  I  have  not  had 
earlier  intelligence  of  her  arrival  in  this  realm?" 

Lord  Burleigh  bowed  profoundly  and  mumbled 
234 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

something  about  its  being  out  of  his  immediate  prov 
ince — he  would  have  investigation  made — etc.,  etc. 

The  Queen  cut  him  short  a  little  impatiently. 

"Let  it  be  done,  my  lord,"  she  said. 

Then  turning  to  Rebecca,  she  continued: 

"Our  welcome  is  somewhat  tardy,  but  none  the  less 
sincere.  England  hath  e'er  been  friendly  to  the 
American,  and  you  had  been  more  fittingly  received 
had  our  informants  been  less  negligent." 

Here  the  Queen  shot  a  glance  at  poor  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  who  now  seemed  the  personification  of  dis 
comfiture. 

"By  what  name  are  you  called?"  Elizabeth  con 
tinued. 

"Wise,"  said  Rebecca,  very  graciously,  "Rebecca 
Wise." 

"Lady  Rebecca,  will  you  sit  nearer  ?" 

Instantly  one  of  the  pages  sprang  forward  with  a 
low  chair,  which,  in  obedience  to  a  sign  from  the 
Queen,  he  placed  at  her  right  hand. 

"Why,  I'd  be  right  pleased,"  said  Rebecca.  "That 
is,  if  the  other  folks  don't  mind,"  she  continued,  look 
ing  around.  "I  don't  want  to  spile  your  party." 

So  saying,  she  advanced  and  sat  beside  the  Queen, 
who  now  turned  once  more  to  the  luckless  Raleigh. 

"Well,  Sir  Walter,"  she  said,  "what  say  you  now? 
You  have  the  printed  proof.  Can  you  make  aught 
of  it?  How  comes  it  that  in  all  your  fine  travels  in 
the  New  World  you  have  heard  no  English  spoken?" 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  'tain't  his  fault!"  said  Rebecca, 
235 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

indulgently.  "I'm  told  they  have  a  mighty  queer 
way  o'  talkin'  down  South,  where  he's  ben.  Comes 
o'  bein'  brought  up  with  darkies,  ye  know." 

Elizabeth  took  up  the  newspaper  once  more. 

"Was  this  printed  in  your  realm,  Lady  Rebecca?" 
she  asked. 

"Hey!" 

Elizabeth  started  haughtily,  but  recollected  her 
self  and  repeated : 

"Was  this  leaf  printed  in  your  country?" 

"Oh,  yes — yes,  indeed!  Down  to  New  York. 
Pretty  big  paper,  ain't  it?" 

"Not  voluminous  alone,  but  right  puzzling  to 
plain  English  minds,"  said  the  Queen,  scanning  the 
paper  severely.  "Instance  this." 

Slowly  she  read  the  opening  lines  of  a  market  re 
port: 

"The  bulls  received  a  solar-plexus  blow  yesterday 
when  it  was  reported  that  the  C.  R.  and  L.  directors 
had  resigned  in  a  body  owing  to  the  extensive  strikes." 

"What  words  are  these?"  Elizabeth  exclaimed  in 
a  despairing  tone.  "What  is  a  plexus  of  the  sun,  and 
how  doth  it  blow  on  a  bull?" 

Rebecca  jumped  up  and  brought  her  head  close  to 
the  Queen's,  peering  over  the  paper  which  she  held. 
She  read  and  reread  the  paragraph  in  question  and 
finally  resumed  her  chair,  slowly  shaking  her  head. 

"I  guess  that's  the  Wall  Street  talk  I've  heerd  tell 
of,"  she  said.  "I  don't  understand  that  kind  myself." 

"Why,  Sir  Walter,"  Elizabeth  exclaimed,  triumph- 
236 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

antly,  "here  have  we  two  separate  tribes  at  least, 
each  speaking  its  proper  dialect.  Can  it  be  that  you 
have  heard  no  word  of  these  before?" 

"Even  so,  my  liege,"  was  the  dejected  reply,  "the 
tribes  of  the  North  are  known  to  no  man  as  yet." 

"Passing  strange!"  mused  the  Queen,  running  a 
critical  eye  over  the  printed  page  before  her.  "Your 
talk,  and  that  of  others,  hath  been  only  of  wild,  cop 
per-colored  savages,  living  in  rude  huts  and  wearing 
only  skins.  Sure  such  as  these  have  not  types  and 
printing-presses!  What  is  this  book,  Lady  Rebecca?" 

"That's  a  newspaper,  ma'am.  Don't  you  have  'em 
in  London?  They  come  out  every  day  an'  people 
pay  a  penny  apiece  fer  'em." 

Elizabeth  flashed  a  stern  glance  upon  her  visitor. 

"  'Twere  best  not  go  too  far,  my  lady,"  she  said, 
harshly.  "E'en  traveller's  tales  must  in  some  sort 
ape  the  truth  at  least.  Now,  prithee,  to  what  end 
is  such  a  pamphlet  printed — why,  'tis  endless!" 

"I'll  shet  right  up,  Mis'  Tudor,  ef  ye  think  I'm 
tellin'  wrong  stories,"  said  Rebecca,  indignantly. 
"Thet's  a  newspaper  an'  thet's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Elizabeth  evaded  the  issue  and  turned  now  to  the 
illustrations. 

"These  be  quaint-wondrous  images!"  she  said. 
"Pray,  what  now  may  this  be?  Some  fantastic  rev 
erie  limned  for  amusement?" 

Rebecca  jumped  up  again  and  peered  over  the 
Queen's  shoulder. 

"Why,  thet's  a  picture  of  the  troops  marchin'  down 
237 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Broadway,  in  New  York  City.  See,  it's  all  explained 
in  print  underneath  it." 

"But  these  men  carry  arquebuses  and  wear  a  liv 
ery.  And  these  temples — to  what  false  gods  are  they 
setup?" 

"False  gods!"  exclaimed  Rebecca.  "Bless  your 
simple  heart,  those  ain't  temples.  They're  jest  the 
buildin's  where  the  men  hev  their  offices." 

Elizabeth  sat  in  mute  contemplation,  vainly  seek 
ing  to  realize  it  all. 

"My  lords!"  she  burst  forth  suddenly,  casting  the 
paper  violently  to  the  floor,  "or  this  be  rank  forgery 
and  fraud  or  else  have  we  been  strangely  deceived." 

She  frowned  at  Sir  Walter,  who  dropped  his 
eyes. 

"  "Tis  not  to  be  believed  that  such  vast  cities  and 
great  armies  habited  by  peoples  polite  and  learned 
may  be  found  across  the  sea  and  no  report  of  it  come 
to  them  that  visit  there.  How  comes  it  that  we  must 
await  so  strange  a  chance  as  this  to  learn  such  weighty 
news?" 

She  paused  and  only  silence  ensued. 

Rebecca  stooped  and  recovered  the  paper,  which 
in  falling  had  opened  so  as  to  expose  new  matter. 

"Don't  be  surprised,"  she  said,  soothingly.  "I 
allus  did  hear  that  Britishers  knew  mighty  little 
'bout  America." 

Still  frowning,  Elizabeth  mechanically  stretched 
forth  her  hand  and  Rebecca  gave  her  the  paper.  The 
Queen  glanced  at  the  sheet  and  her  face  lost  its  stern 

238 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

aspect  as  she  eagerly  brought  the  print  nearer  to 
her  eyes. 

"Why,  what  now!"  she  exclaimed.  "God  mend  us, 
here  have  we  strange  attire!  Is  this  a  woman  of 
your  tribe,  my  lady?" 

Rebecca  looked  and  blushed.  Then,  in  an  uneasy 
tone,  she  said: 

"That's  jest  an  advertisement  fer  a  new  corset, 
Mis'  Tudor.  I  never  did  see  how  folks  ever  allowed 
sech  things  to  be  printed — 'tain't  respectable!" 

"A  corset,  call  you  it!    And  these,  then?" 

"Oh,  those  are  the  styles,  the  fashions !  That's  the 
fashion  page,  ye  know.  That's  where  they  tell  all 
about  what  the  rich  folks  down  to  New  York  are 
wearin'." 

There  was  a  murmur  and  a  rustle  among  the  la 
dies-in-waiting,  who  had  hitherto  made  no  sign,  and 
upon  the  Queen's  cheek  there  spread  an  added  tinge, 
betokening  a  high  degree  of  interest  and  gratifica 
tion. 

"Ah!"  she  sighed,  and  glanced  pleasantly  over  her 
shoulder,  "here  be  matters  of  moment,  indeed! 
Your  Grace  of  Devonshire,  what  say  you  to  this?" 

Eagerly  the  elderly  lady  so  addressed  stepped  for 
ward  and  made  a  low  reverence. 

"Look — look  here,  ladies  all!"  Elizabeth  contin 
ued,  with  a  tremor  of  excitement  in  her  voice.  "Saw 
you  ever  such  an  array  as  this?" 

With  one  accord  the  whole  bevy  of  assembled  la 
dies  pressed  forward,  trembling  with  delighted  antici- 

239 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

pation.  A  fashion  sheet — and  from  the  New  World! 
What  wonder  they  were  moved! 

Her  Majesty  was  about  to  begin  perusal  of  one  of 
the  fascinating  paragraphs  wherein  were  described 
those  marvellous  fashion-plates  when  there  was  a 
cry  outside  of  "Way  'nough!"  and  a  moment  later 
the  smart  young  lieutenant  who  had  before  accosted 
Rebecca  entered  and  stood  at  attention. 

Elizabeth  looked  up  and  frowned  slightly.  Fold 
ing  the  paper  carefully,  she  called  to  Sir  Walter, 
who  still  held  in  his  unconscious  hand  the  other  sec 
tion  of  the  paper. 

"Bring  hither  yon  sheet,  Sir  Walter,"  she  cried. 
"Perchance  there  may  be  further  intelligence  of  this 
sort  therein.  We  will  peruse  both  pamphlets  at  our 
leisure  anon." 

Then,  turning  to  the  Lord  High  Admiral: 

"My  Lord  of  Nottingham,"  she  said,  "you  may 
depart.  Your  duties  await  you  without.  Let  it  be 
the  charge  of  your  Grace,"  she  continued,  addressing 
the  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  "to  attend  her  Highness 
the  Lady  Rebecca.  See  that  she  be  maintained  as 
suits  her  rank,  and  let  her  be  near  our  person  that 
we  may  not  lose  aught  of  her  society." 

The  ceremony  of  landing  prevented  further  dis 
course  between  Rebecca  and  the  Queen,  and  it  was 
with  the  greatest  interest  that  the  stranger  observed 
every  detail  of  the  formal  function. 

Peering  through  the  glass  sides  of  the  cabin,  Re 
becca  could  see  the  landing  wharf,  thronged  with 

240 


HOW  THE  QUEEN  READ  HER  NEWSPAPER 

servants  and  magnificently  dressed  officers,  while  be 
yond  there  loomed  a  long,  two-storied  white  stone 
building,  with  a  round-arched  entrance  flanked  by 
two  towers.  This  was  Greenwich  Palace,  a  favorite 
summer  residence  of  the  Queen. 


241 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE    FAT   KNIGHT   AT   THE   BOARDS   HEAD 

When  Francis  Bacon,  having  evaded  Rebecca's 
mistaken  pursuit,  reached  the  deserted  grove  in 
which  the  Panchronicon  still  rested,  he  found  to  his 
dismay  that  Droop  was  absent. 

Copernicus  was  not  the  man  to  let  the  grass  grow 
under  his  feet,  and  he  had  set  off  that  morning  with 
his  letter  of  introduction  to  seek  Sir  Percevall  Hart, 
the  Queen's  knight  harbinger. 

He  had  determined  to  begin  with  moderation,  or 
in  other  words  to  ask  at  first  for  only  two  patents. 
The  first  of  these  was  to  cover  the  phonograph.  The 
second  was  to  give  him  a  monopoly  of  bicycles. 

Accordingly  he  set  forth  fully  equipped,  carrying 
a  box  of  records  over  his  shoulder  by  a  strap  and  his 
well-oiled  bicycle  trundling  along  beside  him,  with 
a  phonograph  and  small  megaphone  hung  on  the 
handle-bar.  He  thought  it  best  to  avoid  remark  by 
not  riding  his  wheel,  being  shrewdly  mindful  of  the 
popular  prejudice  against  witchcraft.  Thanks  to  his 
exchange  with  Master  Bacon,  he  feared  no  comment 
upon  his  garb.  A  pint  flask,  well  filled,  was  concealed 
within  his  garments,  and  thus  armed  against  even 

242 


THE  FAT  KNIGHT  AT  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD 

melancholy  itself,  he  set  forth  fearlessly  upon  his 
quest. 

Droop  had  set  out  from  the  Panchronicon  in  the 
middle  of  the  forenoon,  but,  as  he  was  obliged  to 
distribute  a  large  number  of  photographs  among  his 
customers  before  going  to  London,  it  was  not  until 
some  time  after  Bacon  had  crossed  the  river  and 
Kebecca  had  departed  with  the  Queen  that  he  found 
himself  on  London  Bridge. 

On  reaching  the  London  side,  he  stood  awhile  in 
the  ill-smelling  street  near  the  fish  markets  gazing 
about  him  in  quest  of  someone  from  whom  he  might 
ask  his  way. 

"Let's  see!"  he  mused.  "Bacon  said  Sir  Percevall 
Hart,  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  Eastcheap.  First  thing 
to  find  is  Eastcheap,  I  guess.  Hullo  there,  forsooth!" 
he  cried,  addressing  a  baker's  boy  who  was  shuffling 
by  with  his  basket  on  his  head.  "Hullo  there,  boy — 
knave!  What's  the  shortest  cut  to  Eastcheap?" 

The  lad  stopped  and  stared  hard  at  the  bright 
wheels.  He  seemed  thinking  hard. 

"What  mean  you,  master,  by  a  cut?"  he  said,  at 
length. 

"Oh,  pshaw — bother!"  Droop  exclaimed.  "Jest 
tell  me  the  way  to  Eastcheap,  wilt  thee?" 

The  boy  pointed  straight  north  up  New  Fish 
Street. 

"Eastcheap  is  yonder,"  he  said,  and  turned  away. 

"Well,  that's  somethin',"  muttered  Droop,  "Gives 
me  a  start,  anyway." 

243 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Following  the  route  pointed  out,  he  retraced  the 
very  course  along  which  earlier  in  the  day  Rebecca 
had  proceeded  in  the  opposite  direction,  thinking  she 
saw  him  ahead  of  her.  By  dint  of  making  numerous 
inquiries,  he  found  himself  at  length  in  a  region  of 
squalid  residences  and  second-rate  shops  and  ale 
houses,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  finally  discovered 
the  Boar's  Head  Tavern. 

The  entrance  was  by  a  dark  archway,  overhung 
by  the  upper  stories  of  the  building,  down  which  he 
could  see  a  reddish  glow  coming  and  going,  now  faint 
now  bright,  against  the  dead  wall  to  the  left.  Pass 
ing  cautiously  down  this  passage,  he  soon  found  that 
the  glow  was  projected  through  a  half -curtained 
window  to  the  right,  and  was  caused  by  the  dancing 
light  of  a  pleasant  fire  of  logs  within. 

He  thought  it  wise  to  reconnoitre  before  proceed 
ing  farther,  and,  peeping  through  the  small  leaded 
panes,  he  found  he  could  survey  the  entire  apart 
ment. 

The  room  into  which  Droop  stood  gazing  was  the 
common  tap-room  of  the  inn,  at  that  moment  appar 
ently  the  scene  of  a  brisk  altercation. 

To  the  left  of  the  great  brick  fireplace,  a  large 
pewter  mug  in  his  right  hand,  an  immensely  fat  man 
was  seated.  He  was  clad  as  became  a  cavalier,  al 
though  in  sober  colors,  and  his  attitude  was  sugges 
tive  of  defence,  his  head  being  drawn  far  back  to 
avoid  contact  with  a  closed  fist  held  suggestively  be 
fore  his  face.  The  fist  was  that  of  a  woman  who. 

244 


THE  FAT  KNIGHT  AT  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD 

standing  before  the  fire  with  her  other  hand  resting 
on  her  hip,  was  evidently  delivering  her  sentiments 
in  no  gentle  terms. 

A  long  table,  black  with  age  and  use,  stood  paral 
lel  to  the  right-hand  wall,  and  behind  this  three  men 
were  sitting  with  mugs  before  them,  eying  the  dis 
putants  with  evident  interest.  To  the  left  a  large 
space  was  devoted  to  three  or  four  bulky  casks,  and 
here  an  aproned  drawer  sat  astride  of  a  rush-bottomed 
chair,  grinning  delightedly  and  exchanging  nods  and 
winks  from  time  to  time  with  an  impish,  undersized 
lad  who  lay  on  his  stomach  on  a  wine-butt  with  his 
head  craning  forward  over  the  edge. 

Only  an  occasional  word  reached  the  watcher  at 
the  window,  but  among  these  few  he  recognized  a 
number  which  were  far  more  forcible  than  decent. 
He  drew  back,  shook  his  head,  and  then  slowly  re 
turned  to  the  door  and  looked  up. 

Yes — he  had  made  no  mistake.  Above  his  head 
there  swung  the  sign  of  the  Boar's  Head.  And  yet 
—was  it  likely  or  even  possible  that  Sir  Percevall 
Hart  could  make  such  a  vulgar  haunt  as  this  his 
headquarters?  Sir  Percevall — the  Queen's  harbin 
ger  and  the  friend  of  the  Prime  Minister ! 

With  a  sinking  heart  and  a  face  clouded  with  anx 
iety,  Droop  propped  his  bicycle  against  the  wall 
within  the  passage  and  resolutely  raised  the  heavy 
latch. 

To  his  surprise,  instead  of  the  torrent  of  words 
which  he  had  expected  to  hear  when  he  opened  the 

245 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

door,  complete  silence  reigned  as  he  entered.  The 
fat  man  in  the  chair  by  the  fire  was  still  leaning  back 
ward,  but  his  tankard  was  now  inverted  above  his 
head,  and  a  glance  showed  that  his  companions  at 
the  long  table  were  similarly  employed. 

Copernicus  turned  about  and  closed  the  door  very 
carefully,  unwilling  to  break  the  profound  silence. 
Then  he  tiptoed  his  way  to  the  fire,  and  leaning  for 
ward  rubbed  his  hands  before  the  crackling  logs, 
nervously  conscious  of  six  pairs  of  eyes  concentrated 
upon  his  back.  Droop  was  not  unfamiliar  with  the 
bar-rooms  of  such  a  city  as  Boston,  but  he  found  an 
Elizabethan  tavern  a  very  different  sort  of  place.  So, 
although  already  warmer  than  desirable,  he  could 
only  stand  half  bent  before  a  fire  all  too  hot  and 
wonder  what  he  should  do  next. 

Finally  he  mustered  courage  enough  to  turn  about 
and  survey  with  shamefaced  mien  the  tavern  interior. 
As  he  turned  the  four  guests  dropped  their  eyes  with 
painful  unanimity  and  the  drawer  fell  to  scouring 
a  pewter  mug  with  his  apron.  Only  the  boy  perched 
on  the  cask  kept  his  eyes  obstinately  fixed  on  the 
stranger. 

Droop  now  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  behind 
the  casks  there  was  a  snug  recess  containing  a  table 
and  two  well-worn  benches,  evidently  intended  for 
the  entertainment  of  guests  desirous  of  a  tete-a-tete. 

Thither  he  at  once  directed  his  steps,  and  seating 
himself  upon  one  of  the  benches,  looked  about  him 
for  a  bell.  He  could  hear  the  three  men  at  the  long 

246 


THE  FAT  KNIGHT  AT  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD 

table  whispering  busily,  and  could  see  that  they  had 
their  heads  together. 

The  fat  man  stirred  in  his  chair  with  a  rolling 
motion. 

"Drawer!"  he  called. 

"Here!"  cried  the  drawer,  bustling  up  to  the  fire. 

"A  second  tankard  of  that  same  sack,  boy.  Bustle, 
bustle!" 

"I  must  first  to  my  mistress,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 
"Nothing  for  credit,  sir,  save  by  permission." 

"A  pox  upon  thee !"  growled  the  thirsty  man.  "On 
thee  and  thy  mistress,  too!" 

Muttering  and  shaking  his  head,  the  ponderous 
guest  stretched  forth  his  legs,  closed  his  eyes,  and 
composed  himself  for  a  nap. 

The  drawer  tipped  a  wink  to  the  grinning  pot-boy 
on  the  cask,  and  then  bustled  over  to  Droop's  table, 
which  he  proceeded  to  wipe  vigorously  with  his  apron. 

"Did  you  call,  sir?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Copernicus.  "Bring  me  a  schooner  of 
light  lager." 

The  drawer's  busy  apron  hand  stopped  at  once  and 
its  owner  leaned  hard  on  the  table. 

"What  command  gave  you,  sir?"  he  said. 

"Marry — a  schooner  of  lager — light,  forsooth!" 
Droop  repeated. 

"Cry  you  mercy,  sir,"  said  the  drawer,  straighten 
ing  up,  "this  be  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  sir.  What 
may  your  worship  require  by  way  of  food  and 
drink?" 

247 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"These  old-timers  beat  all  creation  for  ignorance," 
muttered  Droop.  Then,  looking  up  into  the  man's 
face,  he  called  for  one  drink  after  another,  watch 
ing  hopefully  for  some  sign  of  answering  intelli 
gence. 

"Give  me  a  Scotch  high-ball.  No?  Then  a  gin 
sling.  Hot  Tom  and  Jerry,  then.  Marry,  an  egg 
flip,  i' faith !  Ain't  got 'em?  Get  me  a  brandy  smash 
— a  sherry  cobbler — a  gin  rickey — rock  and  rye — a 
whisky  sour — a  mint  julep !  What !  Nothin'  ?  What 
in  thunder  do  ye  sell,  then?" 

The  drawer  scratched  his  head,  and  then  grinned 
suddenly  and  gave  vent  to  a  dry  laugh. 

"Well  said!  Well  said,  master!  The  jest  is  a 
merry  one — call  me  a  Jew  else !"  Then,  sobering 
as  briskly  as  he  had  taken  to  laughing:  "Will  you 
have  a  cup  of  sack,  master,  to  settle  the  stomach 
after  fasting — or  a  drop  of  Canary  or  Xeres  or  a 
mug  of  ale,  perchance " 

"That's  right,  by  my  halidom!"  Droop  broke  in. 
"Bring  me  some  ale,  waiter." 

The  drawer  whisked  away  and  returned  in  a  few 
moments  with  a  huge  power  tankard  topped  with  a 
snowy  foam. 

"That's  the  stuff!"  said  Droop,  smacking  his  lips. 
He  half-emptied  the  beaker,  and  then,  turning  to  the 
drawer: 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  he  said,  "if  I  can  find  a  man 
by  the  name  of  Hart  here — Sir  Percevall  Hart?" 

"Sir  Percevall,"  said  the  drawer,  in  an  undertone. 
248 


THE  FAT  KNIGHT  AT  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD 

"Why,  there's  your  man,  master.  The  fat  knight 
snoring  by  yon  fire." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Droop.  "The  man  who—" 
He  broke  off  and  stared  awhile  in  silence.  Finally, 
shaking  his  head:  "Never  would  have  thought  it!" 
he  said. 

Copernicus  lapsed  into  meditation  and  the  drawer 
withdrew.  At  length  Droop  roused  himself  with  a 
shake. 

"Won't  do  no  good  to  set  here  doin'  nothin',"  he 
muttered.  Then,  swallowing  the  remainder  of  his 
ale,  he  drew  his  letter  of  introduction  from  his  pocket 
and  walked  back  to  the  fireplace. 

The  knight,  who  was  not  sleeping  very  soundly, 
slightly  opened  one  eye,  and  to  his  surprise,  beheld 
a  letter  which  Droop  held  almost  under  his  nose. 

Sitting  up  straight  and  now  fully  awake,  Sir  Per- 
cevall  stared  first  at  Copernicus  and  then  at  the 
letter. 

"A  letter!"  he  exclaimed.    "For  me?" 

"Verily,  yea,"  Droop  replied,  very  politely. 

The  knight  opened  the  letter  slowly  and  turned 
so  that  the  light  from  a  window  fell  full  upon  it. 

"What's  here!"  he  exclaimed.  "This  direction  is 
to  my  Lord  Burleigh." 

"Yep — oh,  yes,  yea!"  said  Droop,  confusedly. 
"But  you  was  to  read  it — peruse  it,  you  wot — Bacon 
said  as  much.  He  said  you  knew  the  lord  and  could 
take  me  around,  forsooth,  and  sorter  interduce  me, 


ye  see." 


249 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

With  leisurely  gravity,  Sir  Percevall  slowly  read 
the  note,  and  then,  returning  it  with  a  polite  gest 
ure: 

"This  letter  hath  reference  to  certain  monopolies," 
he  said.  "My  cousin  Bacon  doth  write  in  high  terms 
of  your  skill  and  high  merit,  Master — Master " 

"Droop,  sir.    Copernicus  Droop's  my  name." 

"Ah,  yes!  And  the  service  you  require — ?  I  beg 
your  indulgence,  but,  sooth  to  say,  being  nigh  starved 
of  late  in  this  tavern  of  ill  repute,  my  poor  wits  have 
grown  fat.  I  am  slow  of  apprehension,  Master 
Wither " 

"Droop,  sir — Droop." 

"Kay — cry  you  mercy — Master  Droop." 

"Why,  now,  Sir  Percy,"  said  Copernicus,  with  oily 
grace,  "ef  you  wouldn't  mind,  I'd  be  proud  ef  you'd 
set  down  over  yonder,  perchance,  and  have  a  glass 
with  me.  We'd  be  more  private  then,  and  I  could 
make  this  hull  business  clear  to  ye.  What  say  ye, 
sir?" 

"Why,  there's  my  hand,  Master  Dupe — Droop," 
said  the  knight,  his  face  brightening  mightily.  "Five 
yards  are  a  mile  for  a  man  of  my  girth,  Master 
Droop,  but  praise  God  such  words  as  these  of  yours 
cheer  my  heart  to  still  greater  deeds  than  faring  a 
mile  afoot." 

Slowly  and  painfully  the  corpulent  knight  drew 
himself  to  his  feet,  and  with  one  hand  bearing  affec 
tionately  but  heavily  on  Droop's  shoulder,  he  shuffled 
over  to  the  recess  and  seated  himself. 

250 


THE  FAT  KNIGHT  AT  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD 

''What  ho,  there!  Drawer!"  he  shouted,  as  soon 
as  they  were  comfortably  disposed  face  to  face. 

"Anon,  sir,  anon!"  came  the  familiar  reply,  and 
the  drawer,  who  had  just  served  two  new  guests  at 
the  long  table,  now  hurried  over  to  the  nook  behind 
the  casks. 

"A  quart  of  sack,  villain!"  said  Sir  Percevall. 

"And  for  you,  sir?"  said  the  drawer,  turning  to 
Droop. 

"Yes,  yea,  bring  me  the  same."  He  had  no  idea 
what  sack  was,  but  he  felt  that  in  all  probability  it 
was  a  mild  beverage,  or  no  one  would  order  a  quart 
at  once. 

"And  this  same  letter,  now,"  Sir  Percevall  began. 
"To  warn  you  truly,  friend,  this  matter  of  monopo 
lies  hath  something  of  an  ill  savor  in  the  public  mind. 
What  with  sweet  wines,  salt,  hides,  vinegar,  iron,  oil, 
lead,  yarn,  glass,  and  what  not  in  monopoly,  men 
cry  out  that  they  are  robbed  and  the  Queen's  ad 
visers  turn  pale  at  the  very  word." 

He  interrupted  himself  to  give  his  attention  to  the 
wine  which  had  just  been  placed  before  him. 

"To  better  acquaintance!"  he  said,  and  the  two 
drank  deep  together. 

Droop  smacked  his  lips  critically  and  turned  up 
his  eyes  for  greater  abstraction.  The  wine  was  pleas 
ant  to  the  palate,  he  thought,  but — well — it  wasn't 
whiskey. 

"Of  this  letter,  now,"  the  knight  resumed,  anxious 
to  discover  his  own  advantage  in  Droop's  plans. 

251 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"  'Twere  vain  for  you,  a  stranger  to  the  Lord  High 
Treasurer,  to  accost  him  with  it.  A  very  circum 
spect  and  pragmatical  old  lord,  believe  me.  Not  every 
man  hath  admittance  to  him,  I  promise  ye.  As  for 
me,  why,  God  'ild  you,  man!  'twas  but  yesterday  a 
fortnight  Burleigh  slapped  me  o'  the  shoulder  and 
said:  'Percevall,  ye  grow  fat,  you  rogue — on  the 
word  of  a  Cecil!'  Oh,  trust  me,  Master  Droop;  my 
lord  much  affects  my  conversation!" 

"Is  that  a  fact?"  said  Droop,  admiringly.  "It  cer 
tainly  ain't  done  your  conversation  any  harm  to  be 
affected  that  way." 

"Oh,  then,  an  you  jest,  Master " 

"Not  a  mite!"  exclaimed  Copernicus,  anxiously. 
"Verily,  nay,  friend.  Trust  me — never!" 

"Or  never  trust  thee!'  quoth  the  knight,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Droop  took  refuge  in  his  wine,  and  Sir  Percevall 
imitating  him,  the  two  emptied  their  cups  together 
and  sighed  with  a  simultaneous  content. 

"That's  not  bad  swizzle,"  said  Droop,  patronizing 
ly.  "But,  as  fer  me,  give  me  whiskey  every  time !" 

"Whiskey!"  said  the  knight  with  interest.  "Nay, 
methought  I  knew  every  vintage  and  brew,  each  label 
and  brand  from  Rhine  to  the  Canaries.  But  this 
name,  Master  Droop,  I  own  I  never  heard.  Whiskey, 
say  you?" 

«/      */ 

"Well,  now,  do  tell!"  said  Droop,  drawing  forth 
his  flask  of  nineteenth-century  rye,  "never  heerd  o' 
whiskey,  eh?  Never  tasted  it,  either,  I  s'pose?" 

252 


THE  FAT  KNIGHT  AT  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD 

"How  should  I  taste  it,  man,  not  knowing  its  very 
name?" 

"Verily,  thou  sayest  sooth!"  said  Droop.  Then, 
glancing  all  about  him:  "Ain't  there  any  smaller 
glasses  'round  here?" 

"Drawer — ho,  drawer,  I  say!"  roared  the  knight. 

"Here,  sir — here !    What  is  your  pleasure  ?" 

"The  pleasure  is  to  come,  rogue!  Fetch  hither 
two  of  yon  scurvy  glass  thimbles  you  wot  of.  Hostess 
calls  them  cordial  glasses.  Haste  now!  Scramble, 
varlet!" 

When  the  two  small  glasses  were  brought,  Droop 
uncorked  his  flask  and  poured  each  full  to  the  brim. 

"Th'  ain't  any  seltzer  in  this  one-hoss  town,"  he 
said,  "so  I  can't  make  ye  a  high-ball.  We'll  jest  hev 
to  drink  it  straight,  Sir  Knight.  Here's  luck !  Drink 
hearty!"  and  with  a  jerk  of  hand  and  head  he  tossed 
the  spirits  down  his  throat  at  a  gulp  and  smacked  his 
lips  as  he  set  down  his  glass. 

Sir  Percevall  followed  his  friend's  movements  with 
a  careful  eye  and  imitated  him  as  exactly  as  possible, 
but  he  did  not  escape  a  coughing  fit,  from  which  he 
emerged  with  a  purple  face  and  tear-filled  eyes. 

"Have  another?"  said  Droop,  cheerfully. 

"A  plague  on  queezy  gullets!"  growled  the  knight. 
"Your  spirits  sought  two  ways  at  once,  Master  Droop, 
and  like  any  other  half-minded  equivocal  transaction, 
contention  was  the  outcome.  But  for  the  whiskey, 
mind  you — why,  it  hath  won  old  Sir  Percevall's 
heart.  Zounds,  man!  Scarce  two  fingers  of  it,  and 

253 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

yet  I  feel  the  wanton  laugh  in  me  already.  Good 
fellows  need  good  company,  my  master!  So  pour 
me  his  fellow!  So — so !" 

They  drank  again,  and  this  time  the  more  cautious 
knight  escaped  all  painful  consequences. 

"Look  you,  Master  Droop,"  said  the  delighted  old 
toper,  leaning  back  against  the  wall  as  he  beamed 
across  the  table  at  his  companion,  "look  you!  An 
you  have  a  butt  of  this  same  brew,  Sir  Percevall 
Hart  is  your  slave,  your  scullion,  your  foot-boy! 
Why,  man,  'tis  the  elixir  of  life !  It  warms  a  body 
like  a  maid's  first  kiss!  Whence  had  you  it?" 

"Oh,  they  make  it  by  the  million  gallons  a  year 
where  I  come  from,"  Droop  replied.  "Have  another. 
Take  it  with  hot  water  and  sugar — I  mean  honey." 

The  advice  was  followed,  and  while  they  sipped 
the  enlivening  decoction,  Copernicus  explained  his 
plans  touching  the  patenting  of  his  phonograph  and 
bicycle.  When  he  concluded  his  relation,  the  knight 
leaned  back  and  gazed  at  him  with  an  affectionate 
squint. 

"See,  now,  bully  rook,  if  I  take  you,"  he  said. 
"It  behooves  you  to  have  fair  inductance  at  court. 
For  this  ye  come  to  Sir  Percevall  Hart,  her  Majesty's 
harbinger  and — though  he  says  so  himself — a  good 
friend  to  Cecil.  Now,  mark  me,  lad.  Naught  do  I 
know  or  care  of  thy  'funny  craft'  or  'bicycle.'  Master 
Bacon  is  a  philosopher  and  you  have  here  his  certifi 
cate.  Say  I  well — what?" 

He  paused  and  Droop  nodded. 
254 


THE  FAT  KNIGHT  AT  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD 

"Good — and  so  to  better.  Naught  care  I,  or  know 
I,  or  should  or  could  I  trow,  being  a  man  of  poetical 
turn  and  no  base  mechanic — no  offence  meant  to 
yourself,  Master  Droop.  But  this  I  do  say — and  now 
mark  me  well — I  say — and  dare  maintain  it  (and  all 
shall  tell  ye  that  is  a  fair  maintenance  and  a  good 
champion),  that  for  a  sure  and  favorable  inductance 
to  the  favors  of  the  court  there's  no  man  living  takes 
the  wall  o'  Percevall  Hart,  Knight!" 

"Bacon  told  me  as  much,"  said  Droop. 

"And  he  told  thee  well,  my  master.  Frank  is  a 
good  lad,  though  vain,  and  his  palm  itcheth.  So  to 
terms,  eh?  Now,  methinks  'twere  but  equity  and 
good  fellowship  for  two  such  as  we  are  to  go  snacks, 
eh?  Cut  through  the  middle — even  halves,  bully — 
even  halves !  How  say  you?" 

"You  don't  mean,"  said  Droop,  "that  you'd  want 
half  the  profits,  jest  fer  introducin'  me  to  Lord 
What's-is-name,  do  ye?" 

"With  a  small  retainer,  of  course,  to  bind  fast. 
Say — oh,  a  matter  of  twenty  gold  angels  or  so." 

"Why,  blame  your  confounded  overstretched 
skin!"  cried  Droop,  hotly,  "I'd  sooner  drop  the  hull 
darn  thing!  You  must  take  me  fer  a  nat'ral  born 
fool,  I  guess!" 

"Nay,  then — 'twixt  friends,"  said  the  knight, 
soothingly.  "  'Twixt  friends,  say  we  remit  one  half 
the  profits.  Procure  me  but  the  angels,  Master 
Droop,  and  drop  the  remainder." 

"As  many  devils  sooner!"  said  Droop,  indignantly. 
"I'll  take  my  pigs  to  another  market." 

255 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

He  rose  and  beckoned  to  the  drawer. 

"Kay,  then,  why  so  choleric!"  pleaded  the  knight, 
leaning  anxiously  across  the  table.  "What  terms  do 
ye  offer,  Master  Droop?  Come,  man,  give  a  show  of 
reason  now — name  your  terms." 

It  was  to  this  point  that  Copernicus  had  counted 
upon  bringing  the  helpless  knight,  who  was  far  from 
a  match  for  a  Yankee.  He  had  driven  his  own 
bargain  with  Bacon,  and  he  now  resolved  that  Ba 
con's  friend  should  fare  no  better.  In  pursuit  of 
this  plan,  he  moved  from  his  seat  with  a  sour  face. 

"I  don't  feel  much  like  takin'  up  with  a  man  who 
tries  to  do  me,"  he  grumbled,  shaking  his  head  and 
beckoning  again  to  the  drawer. 

"Do  thee,  man — do  thee!"  cried  the  knight. 
"Why,  an  I  do  thee  good,  what  cause  for  grief?" 
Spreading  forth  his  two  fat  hands,  he  continued: 
"Spake  I  not  fairly?  An  my  offer  be  not  to  thy 
taste — say  thine  own  say.  What  the  devil,  man; 
must  we  quarrel  perforce?" 

Droop  scratched  his  head  and  seemed  to  hesitate. 
Finally  he  slapped  the  table  with  his  open  hand  and 
cried  with  a  burst  of  generosity: 

"I'll  tell  ye  what  I  will  do.  I've  got  two  quart 
bottles  of  that  same  ripe  whiskey,  and  I'll  give  'em 
both  to  ye  the  day  the  Queen  gives  me  my  patents!" 

"Nay — nay!"  said  the  knight,  straightening  him 
self  with  dignity.  "  'Twere  a  mere  fool's  prank  at 
such  terms!" 

"Oh,  all  right!"  cried  Droop,  turning  away. 
256 


THE  FAT  KNIGHT  AT  THE  BOAR'S  HEAD 

"Hold— hold!  Not  so  fast!"  cried  Sir  Percevall. 
But  Copernicus  merely  slapped  his  hat  on  his  head 
and  started  toward  the  door. 

Sir  Percevall  leaned  over  the  table  in  flushed  des 
peration. 

"Listen,  friend!"  he  cried.  "Wilt  make  a  jolly 
night  of  it  in  the  bargain?" 

Droop  stopped  and  turned  to  his  companion. 

"D'ye  mean  right  now?" 

A  nod  was  the  reply. 

"And  you'll  take  my  offer  if  I  do?" 

The  knight  sat  upright  and  slapped  the  table. 

"On  my  honor!"  he  cried. 

"Then  it's  a  go!"  said  Droop. 


257 


CHAPTEE   XII 

HOW   SHAKESPEARE  WBOTE   HIS  PLAYS 

As  Francis  Bacon  returned  to  London  from  the 
Peacock,  Phoebe  had  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps 
leading  into  the  courtyard  and  watched  him  depart. 
She  little  foresaw  the  strange  adventure  into  which 
he  was  destined  to  lead  her  sister.  Indeed,  her 
thoughts  were  too  fully  occupied  with  another  to 
give  admittance  to  Rebecca's  image. 

Her  lover  was  in  danger — danger  to  his  life  and 
honor.  She  knew  he  was  to  be  saved,  yet  was  not 
free  from  anxiety,  for  she  felt  that  it  was  to  be  her 
task  to  save  him.  To  this  end  she  had  sent  Bacon 
with  his  message  to  Copernicus.  She  believed  now 
that  a  retreat  was  ready  for  young  Fenton.  How 
would  her  confidence  have  been  shaken  could  she 
have  known  that  Copernicus  had  already  left  the 
Panchronicon  and  that  Bacon  had  been  sent  in  vain ! 

In  ignorance  of  this,  she  stood  now  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  and  let  her  thoughts  wander  back  to  the 
day  before,  dwelling  with  tenderness  upon  the  mem 
ory  of  her  lover's  patient  attendance  upon  her  in 
that  group  of  rustic  groundlings.  With  a  self-re- 

258 


HOW  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  HIS  PLAYS 

proachful  ache  at  the  heart  she  pictured  herself  as 
she  had  sat  far  up  in  the  gallery  gazing  downward 
with  every  faculty  centred  upon  the  stage,  while  he, 
thinking  only  of  her 

She  started  and  looked  quickly  to  right  and  left. 
Why,  it  was  here,  almost  upon  these  very  stones,  that 
he  had  stood.  Here  she  had  seen  him  for  one  mo 
ment  at  the  last  as  she  was  leaving  her  seat.  He 
was  leaning  upon  a  rude  wooden  post.  She  sought 
it  with  her  eyes  and  soon  caught  sight  of  it  not  ten 
feet  away. 

Then  she  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  she  was 
not  alone.  A  young  fellow  in  the  garb  of  a  hostler 
stood  almost  where  Guy  had  been  the  day  before. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  Phoebe,  for  he  was  appar 
ently  deeply  preoccupied  in  carving  some  device 
upon  the  very  post  against  which  Guy  had  leaned. 

Already  occupied  with  her  own  tenderness,  she 
was  quick  to  conclude  that  here,  too,  was  a  lover, 
busy  with  some  emblem  of  affection.  Had  not  Or 
lando  cut  Rosalind's  name  into  the  bark  of  many  a 
helpless  tree? 

Clasping  her  hands  behind  her,  she  smiled  at  the 
lad  with  head  thrown  back. 

"A  wager,  lad!"  she  cried.  "Two  shillings  to  a 
groat  thou  art  cutting  a  love-token!" 

The  fellow  looked  up  and  tried  to  hide  his  knife. 
Then,  grinning,  he  replied: 

"I'll  no  take  your  challenge,  mistress.  Yet,  i'  good 
faith,  'tis  but  to  crown  another's  work." 

259 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Then,  pointing  with  his  blade: 

"See  where  he  hath  carved  letters  four,"  he  con 
tinued.  "Wi'  love-links,  too.  A  watched  un  yes- 
tre'en,  whiles  the  play  was  forward.  A  do  but  carve 
a  heart  wi'  an  arrow  in't." 

She  blushed  suddenly,  wondering  if  it  were  Guy 
who  had  done  this.  Stepping  to  the  side  of  the  sta 
ble-boy,  she  examined  the  post. 

The  letters  were  in  pairs.  They  were  M.  B.  and 
G.  F. 

Her  feeling  bubbled  over  in  a  little  half-stifled 
laugh. 

"Silly!"  she  exclaimed.  Then  to  the  boy:  "Know 
you  him  who  cut  the  letters?"  she  asked,  with  af 
fected  indifference. 

"Nay,  mistress,"  he  replied,  falling  again  to  his 
work,  "but  he  be  a  rare  un  wi'  the  bottle." 

"The  bottle!"  Phoebe  exclaimed,  in  amazement. 
Then  quite  sternly :  "Thou  beliest  him,  knave !  No 
more  sober — "  She  checked  herself,  suddenly  con 
scious  of  her  indiscretion. 

"Why,  how  knowest  his  habits?"  she  asked,  more 
quietly. 

"A  saw  un,  mistress,  sitting  in  the  kitchen  wi' 
two  bottles  o'  Spanish  wine.  Ask  the  player  else." 

"The  player!     What  player?" 

"Him  as  was  drinking  wi'  him.  Each  cracked  his 
bottle,  and  'twas  nip  and  tuck  which  should  call  first 
for  the  second." 

So  Guy  had  spent  the  evening — those  hours  when 
260 


HOW  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  HIS  PLAYS 

she  was  tenderly  dreaming  of  him  with  love  renewed 
— drinking  and  carousing  with  some  dissolute  actor! 

Within  her  Phoebe  Wise  and  Mary  Burton  strug 
gled  for  mastery  of  her  opinion. 

What  more  natural  than  that  a  poor  lad,  tired 
with  waiting  on  his  feet  for  hours  for  one  look  from 
the  mistress  who  disdained  him,  should  seek  to  for 
get  his  troubles  quaffing  good  wine  in  the  company 
of  some  witty  player?  This  was  Mary's  view. 

What!  To  leave  the  presence  of  his  sweetheart 
— the  girl  to  whom  he  had  just  written  that  penitent 
letter — to  go  fresh  from  the  inspiration  of  all  that 
should  uplift  a  lover,  and  befuddle  his  brains  with 
"rum,"  gossiping  with  some  coarse-grained  barn 
stormer!  So  Phoebe  railed. 

"Who  was  the  player?"  she  asked,  sharply. 

"Him  as  wore  the  long  white  beard,"  said  the  boy. 
"The  Jew,  to  wit.  Eh,  but  a  got  his  cess,  the  run- 
nion!" 

"Shylock!"  she  cried,  in  spite  of  herself. 

So  this  was  the  gossiping  barn-stormer,  the  disso 
lute  actor.  Will  Shakespeare  it  was  with  whom  her 
Guy  had  spent  the  evening !  Phoebe  Wise  could  but 
capitulate,  and  Mary  Burton  took  for  a  time  triumph 
ant  possession  of  the  heart  that  was  Guy  Fenton's. 

"Have  the  players  left  the  Peacock?"  she  asked, 
eagerly. 

"Nay,  mistress,  know  you  not  that  they  play  to 
night  at  the  home  of  Sir  William  Percy?" 

"Then  they  are  here,  at  the  inn,  boy?" 
261 


THE   PANCHRONICON 

"A  saw  him  that  played  the  Jew  i'  the  garden  not 
a  half  hour  since.  He's  wont  to  wander  there  and 
mutter  the  words  of  the  play.  I'll  warrant  him  there 
now,  mistress." 

Here,  indeed,  was  good  fortune !  Shakespeare  was 
in  the  garden.  He  should  tell  her  where  to  find  Guy 
that  she  might  warn  him.  Quickly  she  turned  away 
and  hurried  out  of  the  yard  and  around  the  north  L, 
beyond  which  was  the  garden,  laid  out  with  ancient 
hedges  and  long  beds  of  old-fashioned  flowers. 

Now  this  same  garden  was  the  chief  pride  of  the 
neighborhood,  the  more  especially  that  gardens  were 
but  seldom  found  attached  to  inns  in  those  days. 
Here  there  had  been  a  partly  successful  attempt  to 
imitate  Italian  landscape  gardening;  but  the  elabo 
rately  arranged  paths,  beds,  and  parterres,  with  their 
white  statues  and  fountains,  lost  their  effectiveness 
closed  in  as  they  were  by  high  walls  of  vine-covered 
brick.  It  was  rumored  that  once  a  stately  peacock 
had  here  once  flaunted  his  gorgeous  plumage,  giving 
his  name  to  the  inn  itself — but  this  legend  rested 
upon  little  real  evidence. 

When  Phrebe  reached  the  entrance  to  the  main 
walk  she  stopped  and  looked  anxiously  about  her. 
Nowhere  could  she  see  or  hear  anyone.  Sadly  disap 
pointed,  she  moved  slowly  forward,  glancing  quickly 
to  right  and  left,  still  hoping  that  he  whom  she  sought 
had  not  utterly  departed. 

She  reached  a  small  stone  basin  surmounted  by  a 
statue  of  Plenty,  whose  inverted  horn  suggested  a 

262 


HOW  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  HIS  PLAYS 

copious  stream  long  since  choked  up.  Behind  the 
fountain  there  was  a  stone  bench  with  a  high  back. 
Peeping  behind  this,  Phoebe  found  that  a  second  seat 
was  placed  beyond  the  back,  inviting  a  seclusion 
whose  expected  purpose  was  distinctly  suggested  by 
a  sly  little  Cupid  on  a  pedestal,  holding  one  forefinger 
to  his  smiling  lips. 

At  this  moment  Phoebe  was  conscious  of  a  distant 
mumbling  to  her  left,  and,  glancing  quickly  in  that 
direction,  she  saw  a  plainly  dressed,  bareheaded  man 
of  medium  height  just  turning  into  the  main  walk 
out  of  a  by-path,  where  he  had  been  hidden  from 
view  by  a  thick  hedge  of  privet.  His  eyes  were 
turned  upon  some  slips  of  paper  which  he  held  in 
one  hand. 

Could  this  be  he?  Shakespeare!  The  immortal 
Prince  of  Poets ! 

To  Mary  Burton,  the  approach  of  a  mere  player 
would  have  given  little  concern.  But  Phoebe  Wise, 
better  knowing  his  unrivalled  rank,  was  seized  with 
a  violent  attack  of  diffidence,  and  in  an  instant  she 
dodged  behind  the  stone  seat  and  sat  in  hiding  with 
a  beating  heart. 

The  steps  of  the  new-comer  slowly  approached. 
Phoebe  knew  not  whether  pleasure  or  a  painful  fear 
were  stronger  within  her.  Here  was  indeed  the  cul 
mination  of  her  strange  adventure !  There,  beyond 
the  stone  which  mercifully  concealed  her,  He  was 
approaching — the  wondrous  Master  Mind  of  litera 
ture. 

263 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Would  lie  go  by  unheeding?  Could  she  let  him 
pass  on  without  one  glance — one  word?  And  yet, 
how  address  him?  How  dare  to  show  her  face? 

The  slow  steps  ceased  and  at  the  same  time  he 
fell  silent.  She  could  picture  him  gazing  with  un 
conscious  eyes  at  the  fountain  while  within  he  lis 
tened  to  the  Genius  that  prompted  his  majestic 
works.  Again  the  gravel  creaked,  and  then  she  knew 
that  he  had  seated  himself  on  the  other  bench.  The 
two  were  sitting  back  to  back  with  only  a  stone  par 
tition  between  them. 

To  her  own  surprise,  the  diffidence  which  had  op 
pressed  her  seemed  now  to  be  gradually  passing  off. 
She  still  realized  the  privilege  she  enjoyed  in  thus 
sharing  his  seat,  but  perhaps  Mary  Burton  was  gain 
ing  her  head  as  well  as  her  heart,  for  she  positively 
began  to  think  of  leaving  her  concealment,  contem 
plating  almost  unmoved  a  meeting  with  her  demi 
god. 

Then  he  spoke. 

"The  infant  first — then  the  school-boy,"  he  mut 
tered.  "So  far  good !  The  third  age — m — m — m — " 
There  was  a  pause  before  he  proceeded,  slowly  and 
distinctly: 

"  Unwillingly  to  school.     And  then  the  lover, 
Sighing  his  heart  out  in  a  woful  ballad — 

m — m — m — Ah ! — 

Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow." 
264 


HOW  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  HIS  PLAYS 

He  chuckled  audibly  a  moment,  and  then,  speaking 
a  little  louder: 

"Fenton  to  the  life,  poor  lad!"  he  said. 

Phoebe  sat  up  very  straight  with  a  startled  move 
ment.  Oh,  to  think  of  it!  That  she  should  have 
forgotten  Sir  Guy!  To  have  sought  Will  Shake 
speare  for  the  sole  purpose  of  tracing  her  threatened 
lover — and  then  to  forget  him  for  a  simple  name — 
a  mere  celebrity ! 

Unconscious  of  the  small  inward  drama  so  near 
at  hand,  the  playwright  proceeded  with  his  compo 
sition. 

"  'Sighing  his  heart  out,'  "  he  mused.  "Nay,  that 
were  too  strong  a  touch  for  Jacques.  Lighter — 
lighter."  Then,  after  a  moment  of  thought:  "Ay — 
ay !"  he  chuckled.  "  'Sighing  like  furnace' — poor 
Fenton !  How  like  a  very  furnace  in  his  dolor !  Yet 
did  he  justice  to  the  Canary.  So — so!  To  go  back 
now: 

"  Unwillingly  to  school.     And  then  the  lover, 
Sighing  like  furnace  with  a  woful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow. " 

'Twill  pass,  in  sooth,  'twill  pass!" 

Lightly  Phoebe  climbed  onto  the  bench  and  peeped 
over  the  back.  She  looked  down  sidewise  upon  the 
author,  who  was  writing  rapidly  in  an  illegible  hand 
upon  one  of  his  paper  slips. 

There  was  the  head  so  familiar  to  us  all — the 
domelike  brow,  the  long  hair  hanging  over  the  ears. 

265 


THE    PANCHRONICON 

This  she  could  see,  but  of  his  face  only  the  outline 
of  his  left  cheek  was  visible.  Strange  and  unex 
pected  to  herself  was  the  light-hearted  calm  with 
which,  now  that  she  really  saw  him,  she  could  con 
template  the  great  poet. 

He  ceased  writing  and  leaned  against  the  back, 
gazing  straight  ahead. 

"The  third  age  past,  what  then?  Why  the  soldier, 
i'  faith — the  soldier " 

"  Full  of  strange  oaths  " 

came  a  mischievous  whisper  from  an  invisible 
source — 

"  and  bearded  like  the  pard. 
Jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth." 

For  a  moment  the  poet  sat  as  though  paralyzed 
with  astonishment.  Then  rising,  he  turned  and  faced 
the  daring  girl. 

Now  she  saw  the  face  so  well  remembered  and  yet 
how  little  known  before.  Kound  it  was  and  smooth, 
save  for  the  small,  well-trimmed  mustache  above  the 
beautifully  moulded  mouth  and  chin — sensitive  yet 
firm.  But  above  all,  the  splendid  eyes!  Eyes  of 
uncertain  color  that  seemed  to  Phoebe  mirrors  of 
universal  life,  yet  just  now  full  of  a  perplexed  ad 
miration. 

For  she  was  herself  the  centre  of  a  picture  well 
266 


HOW  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  HIS  PLAYS 

fitted  to  arrest  a  poet's  attention.  Her  merry  face 
was  peering  over  the  smooth  white  stone,  with  four 
pink  finger-tips  on  each  side  clinging  for  greater  se 
curity.  Behind  her  a  cherry-tree  was  dropping  its 
snowy  blossoms,  and  two  or  three  had  fallen  un 
heeded  upon  her  wavy  brown  hair,  making  a  charm 
ing  frame  for  the  young  eyes  and  tender  lips  whose 
smiling  harmony  seemed  to  sing  with  arrant  roguish- 
ness. 

With  a  trilling  laugh,  half-suppressed,  she  spoke 
at  last. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Master  Shakespeare !" 
she  said. 

The  mood  of  the  astonished  player  had  quickly 
yielded  to  the  girl's  compelling  smile,  and  his  fine 
lips  opened  upon  a  firm  line  of  teeth. 

"  'Show  me  first  your  penny,'  "  he  quoted. 

"I'll  owe  you  it." 

He  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"That  would  I  not  my  thoughts,  damsel." 

"Pay  them,  then.  Pay  straightway!"  she  pouted, 
"and  see  the  account  be  fair." 

"Nay,  then,"  he  replied,  bowing  half-mockingly, 
"an  the  accountant  be  so  passing  fair,  must  not  the 
account  suffer  in  the  comparison?" 

The  face  disappeared  for  a  moment,  and  then 
Phrebe  emerged  from  behind  the  stone  rampart, 
dusting  her  hands  off  daintily  one  against  the 
other. 

"Did  not  your  wit  exceed  your  gallantry,  sir,"  she 
267 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

said,  courtesying  slightly,  "I  had  had  my   answer 
sooner." 

Shakespeare  was  somewhat  taken  aback  to  see  a 
developed  young  woman,  evidently  of  gentle  birth, 
where  he  had  thought  to  find  the  mere  prank-loving 
child  of  some  neighboring  cottager.  Instantly  his 
manner  changed.  Bowing  courteously,  he  stepped 
forward  and  began  in  a  deferential  voice: 

"Kay,  then,  fair  mistress,  an  I  had  known " 

"Tut — tut!"  she  interrupted,  astonished  at  her  own 
boldness.  "You  thought  me  a  chit,  sir.  Let  it  pass. 
Pray  what  think  you  of  my  lines?" 

"They  seemed  the  whisper  of  a  present  muse,"  he 
said,  gayly,  but  with  conviction  in  his  voice.  "  'Twas 
in  the  very  mood  of  Jacques,  my  lady — a  melancholy 
fellow  by  profession 

"Holding  that  light  which  another  might  presently 
approve" — she  broke  in — "and  praise  bestowing  on 
ill  deserts  in  the  mere  wantonness  of  a  cynic  wit! 
What!— doth  the  cap  fit?" 

The  amazement  in  her  companion's  face  was  irre 
sistible,  and  Phoebe  burst  forth  into  a  spontaneous 
laugh  of  purest  merriment. 

"  'A  hit — a  hit — a  very  palpable  hit !'  "  she  quoted, 
clapping  her  hands  in  her  glee. 

"Were  not  witches  an  eldritch  race,"  said  Shake 
speare,  "you,  mistress,  might  well  lie  under  grave 
suspicion." 

"What — what!  Do  I  not  fit  the  wizened  stamp 
of  Macbeth's  sisters  three?" 

268 


HOW  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  HIS  PLAYS 

Shakespeare  flung  out  his  arms  with  a  gesture  of 
despair. 

"Yet  more  and  deeper  mystery!"  he  cried.  "My 
half-formed  plots — half-finished  scraps — the  clear 
analysis  of  souls  whose  only  life  is  here!"  he  tapped 
his  forehead.  "Say,  good  lady,  has  Will  Shakespeare 
spoken,  perchance,  in  sleep — yet  e'en  so,  how 
could " 

He  broke  off  and  coming  to  her  side,  spoke  ear 
nestly  in  lowered  tones. 

"Tell  me.  Have  you  the  fabled  power  to  read  the 
soul?  Naught  else  explains  your  speech." 

"Tell  me,  sir,  first  the  truth,"  said  Phrebe.  "In  all 
sadness,  Master  Shakespeare,  have  you  had  aught 
from  Francis  Bacon?  I  mean  by  way  of  aid  in  writ 
ing — or  e'en  of  mere  suggestion?" 

"Bacon — Francis  Bacon,"  said  he,  evidently  at  a 
loss.  "There  was  one  Nicholas  Bacon " 

"Nay,  'tis  of  his  son  I  speak." 

"Then,  in  good  sooth,  I  can  but  answer  'No,'  mis 
tress;  since  that  I  knew  not  even  that  this  Nicholas 
had  a  son." 

Phoebe  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  then  went  on 
with  a  partial  return  of  her  former  spirit. 

"Then  all's  well!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  am  a  muse 
well  pleased;  and  now,  an  you  will,  Pll  teach  you 
straight  more  verses  for  your  play." 

"As  you  like  it,"  said  Shakespeare,  bowing,  half- 
amused  and  wholly  mystified. 

"Good!"  she  retorted,  brightly.  " ' As  You  Like 
269 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

It'  shall  you  name  the  piece,  that  henceforth  this  our 
conversation  you  may  bear  in  mind." 

Smiling,  he  took  up  his  papers  and  wrote  across 
the  top  of  one  of  them  "As  You  Like  It"  in  large 
characters. 

"Now  write  as  I  shall  bid  you,"  Phoebe  said. 
"Pray  be  seated,  good  my  pupil,  come." 

Then,  seated  there  by  Phoebe's  side,  the  poet  com 
mitted  to  paper  the  whole  of  Jacques's  speech  on  "The 
Seven  Ages,"  just  as  Phoebe  spoke  it  from  her  mem 
ory  of  the  Shakespeare  club  at  home. 

When  he  ceased  scribbling,  he  leaned  forward  with 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  ran  his  eyes  slowly  and  won- 
deringly  over  each  line  in  turn,  whispering  the 
words  destined  to  become  so  famous.  Phoebe  leaned 
a  little  away  from  her  companion,  resting  one  hand 
on  the  bench,  while  she  watched  his  face  with  a  smile 
that  slowly  melted  to  the  mood  of  dreamy  meditation. 
They  sat  thus  alone  in  silence  for  some  time,  so  still 
that  a  wren,  alighting  on  the  path,  hopped  pecking 
among  the  stones  at  their  very  feet. 

At  length  the  poet,  without  other  change  in  posi 
tion,  turned  his  head  and  looked  searchingly  and 
seriously  into  the  young  girl's  eyes.  What  amazing 
quality  was  it  that  stamped  its  impress  upon  the 
maiden's  face — a  something  he  had  never  seen  or 
dreamed  of?  Even  a  Shakespeare  could  give  no 
name  to  that  spirit  of  the  future  out  of  which  she 
had  come. 

"Is  it  then  true?"  he  said,  in  an  undertone.  "Doth 
270 


HOW  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  HIS  PLAYS 

the  muse  live  ?  Not  a  mere  prompting  inward  sense, 
but  in  bodily  semblance  visiting  the  poet's  eye?  Or 
art  thou  a  creature  of  Fancy's  colors  blended,  feign 
ing  reality?" 

Never  before  had  the  glamour  of  her  situation  so 
penetrated  her  to  whom  these  words  were  addressed. 
She  was  choked  by  an  irrepressible  sob  that  was  half 
a  laugh,  and  a  film  of  moisture  obscured  her  vision. 
With  a  sudden  movement,  she  seized  the  poet's  hand 
and  pressed  it  to  her  lips.  Then,  half-ashamed,  she 
rose  and  turned  away  to  toy  with  the  foliage  of  a 
shrub  that  stood  beside  the  path. 

"Nay,  then!"  Shakespeare  cried,  with  something 
like  relief  in  his  voice,  "you  are  no  insubstantial  spirit, 
damsel.  Yet  would  I  fain  more  clearly  comprehend 
thee!" 

There  was  a  minute's  pause  ere  Phoebe  turned 
toward  the  speaker,  that  spirit  of  mischief  dancing 
again  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  lips. 

"I  am  Mary  Burton,  of  Burton  Hall,"  she 
said. 

"Oh  !"  he  exclaimed.  And  then  again :  "Oh !"  with 
much  of  understanding  and  something  of  disappoint 
ment. 

"Is  all  clear  now?"  she  asked,  roguishly. 

Shakespeare  rose,  and,  shaking  one  finger  playfully 
at  her,  he  said: 

"Most  clear  is  this — that  Sir  Guy  knows  well  to 
choose  in  love;  although,  an  I  read  you  aright,  my 
Mistress  Mockery,  his  wife  is  like  to  prove  passing 

271 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

mettlesome.  For  the  rest,  your  lover  knows  poor 
Will  Shakespeare's  secrets — his  Macbeth  and  half- 
written  Hamlet.  'Tis  with  these  you  have  made  so 
bold  to-day!  My  muse,  in  sooth!  Oh,  fie — fie!" 
And  he  shook  his  head,  laughing. 

"Indeed!  In  very  sooth!"  said  Phoebe,  with  merry 
sarcasm.  "And  was  it,  then,  Guy  who  brought  me 
these  same  lines  of  Jacques  the  melancholy?"  And 
she  pointed  to  the  papers  in  his  hand. 

"Nay,  there  I  grant  you,"  said  the  poet,  shaking 
his  head,  while  the  puzzled  expression  crept  once 
more  into  his  face. 

"Ay,  there,  and  in  more  than  this!"  Phoebe  ex 
claimed.  "You  have  spoken  of  Hamlet,  Master 
Shakespeare.  Guy  hath  told  me  something  of  that 
tragedy.  This  Prince  of  Denmark  is  a  most  un 
happy  wight,  if  I  mistake  not.  Doth  he  not  once 
turn  to  thought  of  self-murder?" 

"Ay,  mistress.  I  have  given  Sir  Guy  my  thoughts 
on  the  theme  of  Hamlet,  and  have  told  him  I  planned 
a  speech  wherein  should  be  made  patent  Hamlet's 
desperate  weariness  of  life,  sickened  by  brooding  on 
his  mother's  infamy." 

"  'To  be  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question,'  "  quoted 
Phoebe.  "Kuns  it  not  so?" 

"This  passes!"  cried  Shakespeare,  once  more  all 
amazement.  "I  told  not  this  to  your  friend!" 

"Nor  did  I  from  Guy  receive  it,"  said  Phoebe. 
"Tell  me,  Master  Shakespeare,  have  you  yet  brought 
that  speech  to  its  term?" 

272 


HOW  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  HIS  PLAYS 

"No,"  he  replied,  "nor  have  I  found  the  task  an 
easy  one.  Much  have  I  written,  but  'tis  all  too 
slight.  Can  you  complete  these  lines,  think  you?" 

"My  life  upon  it!"  she  cried,  eagerly. 

He  shook  his  head,  smiling  incredulously. 

"You  scarce  know  what  you  promise,"  he  said. 
"Can  one  so  young — a  damsel,  too — sound  to  its  bit 
ter  deeps  the  soul  of  Hamlet !" 

"Think  you  so?"  Phoebe  replied,  her  eyes  sparkling. 
"Then  what  say  you  to  a  bargain,  Master  Shake 
speare?  You  know  where  Sir  Guy  Fenton  may  be 
found?" 

"Ay,  right  well!    'Tis  a  matter  of  one  hour's  ride." 

"So  I  thought,"  she  said.  "Hear,  then,  mine  offer. 
I  must  perforce  convey  a  message  straight  that 
touches  the  life  and  honor  of  Sir  Guy.  To  send  my 
servant  were  over-dangerous,  for  there  may  be 
watchers  on  my  going  and  coming.  "Will  "you  go, 
sir,  without  delay,  if  that  I  speak  for  you  the  miss 
ing  lines  completing  young  Hamlet's  soliloquy?" 

Shakespeare  looked  into  her  face  for  a  few  mo 
ments  in  silence. 

"Why,  truly,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  have  here  present 
business  with  my  fellow-player  Burbidge."  He 
paused,  and  then,  yielding  to  the  pleading  in  her 
eyes:  "Yet  call  it  a  bargain,  mistress,"  he  said. 
"Speak  me  the  lines  I  lack  and  straightway  will  I 
take  your  word  to  Sir  Guy." 

"Now  blessings  on  thee !"  cried  Phrebe.  "Give  me 
straight  the  line  you  last  have  written." 

273 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

At  once  the  poet  began: 

"When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make- 


"With  a  bare  bodkin" — broke  in  the  excited  girl. 
"Who  would  fardels  bear,  to  grunt  and  sweat  be 
neath  a  weary  life,  but  that  the  thought  of  something 
after  death — the  undiscovered  country  from  whose 
bourne  no  traveller  returns — puzzles  the  will,  and 
makes  us  rather  bear  the  ills  we  have  than  fly  to 
others  that  we  know  not  of.  Thus  conscience  does 
make  cowards  of  us  all,  and  so  the  native  hue  of 
resolution  is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of 
thought,  and  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment 
by  this  regard  their  currents  turn  awry  and  lose  the 
name  of  action." 

"No  more — no  more!"  cried  Shakespeare,  in  an 
ecstasy.  "More  than  completely  hast  thou  made  thy 
bargain  good,  damsel  unmatchable !  What !  Can  it 
be !  Why  here  have  we  the  very  impress  of  young 
Hamlet's  soul — 'To  grunt  and  sweat  beneath  a  weary 
life' — feel  you  not  there  compunction  and  disgust, 
seeing  in  life  no  cleanly  burden,  but  a  'fardel'  truly, 
borne  on  the  greasy  shoulders  of  filthy  slaves!" 

He  turned  and  paced  back  and  forth  upon  the 
gravel,  repeating  without  mistake  and  with  gestures 
and  accents  inimitable  the  lines  which  Phoebe  had 
dictated.  She  watched  him,  listening  attentively, 
conscious  that  what  she  saw  and  heard,  though  given 
in  a  moment,  were  to  be  carried  with  her  forever; 
convinced  as  well  that  she  was  for  something  in  this, 
and  thankful  while  half  afraid. 

274 


HOW  SHAKESPEARE  WROTE  HIS  PLAYS 

Reaching  the  end  of  the  soliloquy,  Shakespeare 
turned  to  the  maiden,  who  was  still  standing,  backed 
by  the  warm  color  of  a  group  of  peonies. 

"N~ay,  but  tell  me,  damsel,"  he  cried,  appealingly. 
"Explain  this  power!  Art  thou,  indeed,  no  other 
than  Mary  Burton?" 

How  refuse  this  request?  And  yet — what  explan 
ation  would  be  believed?  Perhaps,  if  she  had  time, 
she  thought,  some  intelligible  account  of  the  truth 
would  occur  to  her. 

"And  have  you  forgot  your  bargain  so  soon?"  she 
said,  reproachfully  shaking  her  head.  "Away,  friend, 
away!  Indeed,  the  matter  is  urgent  and  grave.  If, 
when  you  return,  you  will  ask  for  Mary  Burton, 
knowing  your  task  fulfilled,  she  may  make  clear  for 
you  what  now  must  rest  in  mystery." 

"You  say  well,"  he  replied.  "Give  me  your  mes 
sage,  and  count  fully  on  Will  Shakespeare  to  carry 
it  with  all  despatch  and  secrecy." 

Phoebe's  face  grew  grave  as  she  thought  of  all  that 
depended  on  her  messenger.  She  stepped  closer  to 
her  companion  and  glanced  to  right  and  left  to  make 
sure  they  were  still  alone.  Then,  drawing  from  her 
finger  a  plain  gold  ring,  she  offered  it  to  her  com 
panion,  who  took  it  as  she  spoke. 

"If  you  will  show  this  to  Sir  Guy,"  she  said,  "he 
will  know  that  the  case  is  serious.  It  beareth  writing 
within  the  circle — 'Sois  fidele' — do  you  see?" 

"Be  faithful— ay." 

"  'Twill  be  an  admonition  for  you  both,"  said 
275 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Phoebe,  with  a  faint  smile.  "Tell  him  to  be  in  the 
lane  behind  the  Peacock  garden  at  sunset  to-morrow 
even  with  two  good  horses,  one  for  himself  and  one 
for  me.  Tell  him  to  come  alone  and  to  travel  by 
back  ways.  Bid  him  in  my  name — in  God's  name — 
lie  close  till  then,  trusting  in  me  that  there  is  need. 
Tell  him  to  obey  now,  that  later  he  may  have  the 
right  to  command." 

"Good!"  said  Shakespeare.  "And  now  good-by 
until  we  meet  again." 

A  parting  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  he  turned  to 
go  to  the  stables.  She  stood  by  the  fountain  musing, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  entrance  gate  of  the  garden 
until  at  length  a  horseman  galloped  past.  He  rose 
in  his  stirrups  and  waved  his  hand.  She  ran  forward, 
swept  by  a  sudden  dread  of  his  loss,  waving  her  hands 
in  a  passionate  adieu. 

When  she  reached  the  gate  no  one  was  in  sight. 


276 


CHAPTER   XIII 

HOW    THE    FAT    KNIGHT    DID    HOMAGE 

On  Rebecca's  arrival  with  the  royal  attendants  at 
Greenwich  Palace,  the  Queen  had  ordered  that  she 
be  given  a  splendid  suite  of  apartments  for  her  own 
use,  and  that  she  be  constantly  attended  by  a  number 
of  young  gentlewomen  assigned  to  her  establishment. 
The  news  soon  spread  through  the  palace  that  an 
American  princess  or  empress  had  arrived,  and  she 
was  treated  in  every  way  on  the  footing  of  a  sort  of 
inferior  royalty.  Elizabeth  invited  her  to  share 
every  meal  with  her,  and  took  delight  in  her  ac 
counts  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  American 
aborigines. 

As  for  Rebecca,  she  finally  yielded  to  the  con 
viction  that  Elizabeth  was  not  Victoria,  and  found 
it  expedient  to  study  her  companions  with  a  view  to 
avoiding  gross  breaches  of  etiquette.  Of  these,  the 
first  which  she  corrected  was  addressing  Elizabeth  as 
"Mrs.  Tudor." 

In  twenty-four  hours  the  shrewd  and  resourceful 
New  England  woman  was  able  to  learn  many  things, 
and  she  rapidly  found  her  bearings  among  the  strange 

277 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

people  and  stranger  institutions  by  which  she  was 
surrounded. 

Seated  in  her  own  "presence  chamber,"  as  she 
called  it,  surrounded  by  her  civil  and  assiduous  at 
tendants,  she  discovered  a  charm  in  being  constantly 
taken  care  of  which  was  heightened  by  the  contrast 
which  it  presented  with  her  usually  independent 
habits  of  life.  The  pleasing  effect  of  novelty  had 
never  more  strongly  impressed  her. 

Her  anxiety  in  Phoebe's  behalf  had  been  dispelled 
when  she  learned  that  Isaac  Burton  was  expected  at 
the  palace,  and  was  to  bring  his  family  with  him. 
With  diplomatic  shrewdness,  she  resolved  to  improve 
every  opportunity  to  win  the  Queen's  favor,  in  order 
that  when  the  time  came  she  might  have  the  benefit 
of  her  authority  in  removing  her  younger  sister  from 
her  pretended  relatives. 

It  was  about  five  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  suc 
ceeding  her  adventure  on  the  Thames,  and  Rebecca 
sat  near  a  window  overlooking  the  entrance  court. 
She  was  completing  the  knitting  upon  which  she  had 
been  engaged  when  Droop  made  his  first  memorable 
call  on  her  in  Peltonville. 

On  either  side  of  Rebecca,  but  on  stools  set  some 
what  lower  than  her  chair,  were  her  two  favorites, 
the  Lady  Clarissa  Bray,  daughter  of  Walter  Bray, 
Lord  Hunsforth,  and  the  Honorable  Lady  Margaret 
Welsh,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  March. 

Clarissa  was  employed  in  embroidering  a  stom 
acher  whose  green,  gold,  and  russet  set  off  her  dark 

278 


HOW  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID  HOMAGE 

curls  very  agreeably.  The  Lady  Margaret  was  play 
ing  a  soft  Italian  air  upon  the  cithern,  which  she 
managed  with  excellent  taste,  to  the  entertainment 
of  her  temporary  mistress  and  her  half  dozen  at 
tendants. 

Rebecca's  needles  moved  in  time  with  the  graceful 
measure  of  the  music,  while  her  head  nodded  in  uni 
son,  and  she  smiled  now  and  then. 

As  the  air  was  concluded  she  let  her  hands  sink 
for  a  moment  into  her  lap,  turning  to  bend  an  approv 
ing  look  upon  the  fair  young  musician. 

"There,  now!"  she  said.  "I  declare,  Miss  Mar 
garet,  that's  real  sweet  music.  I'm  much  obliged  to 
ye,  I'm  sure." 

Margaret  arose  and  courtesied,  blushing. 

"Would  your  Highness  that  I  play  again?"  she 
asked. 

"No,  thank  ye,"  said  Rebecca,  resuming  her  knit 
ting.  "The's  no  sort  o'  use  in  drivin'  folks  to  death 
as  are  kind  to  ye.  Sit  right  down  an'  rest  now,  an' 
I'll  tell  ye  all  a  story  thet  hez  a  bearin'  right  on  that 
point." 

She  turned  to  the  four  maids  of  honor  seated  be 
hind  her. 

"Now  you  girls  can  jest  's  well  come  an'  set  in 
front  o'  me  while  I'm  talkin'.  I'll  like  it  a  heap 
better,  I'm  sure." 

With  great  diffidence  on  the  part  of  her  attendants, 
and  after  much  coaxing  on  Rebecca's  part,  this  change 
was  accomplished.  The  idea  of  being  seated  in  the 

279 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

presence  of  royalty  was  in  itself  quite  distasteful  to 
these  young  courtiers,  but  upon  this  Rebecca  had 
insisted  from  the  first.  It  made  her  feel  tired,  she 
said,  to  see  people  standing  continually  on  their  feet. 

"Well,"  she  began,  when  all  were  disposed  to  their 
satisfaction,  "it  all  happened  in  my  country,  ye  know. 
'Twas  'bout  ten  years  ago  now,  I  guess — or  rather 
then — I  mean  it  will  be " 

Clarissa's  wondering  eyes  caught  the  speaker's  at 
tention  and  she  coughed. 

"Never  mind  when  'twas,"  she  went  on.  "Ye  see, 
things  are  very  different  here — time  as  well  's  the 
rest.  However,  'long  'bout  then,  my  cousin  Ann 
Slocum  took  a  notion  to  'nvite  me  down  to  Keene 
fer  a  little  visit.  Phoebe — thet's  my  sister — she  said 
I  could  go  jest 's  well 's  not,  an'  so  I  went.  The  fust 
night  I  was  there,  when  dinner  was  over,  of  course 
I  offered  to  wash  up  the  dishes,  seein'— 

An  involuntary  and  unanimous  gasp  of  amazement 
from  her  fair  auditors  cut  Rebecca  short  at  this  point. 

"Well,"  she  said,  a  little  anxiously,  "what's  the 
matter?  Anythin'  wrong?" 

The  Lady  Clarissa  ventured  to  voice  the  general 
sentiment. 

"Did  we  hear  aright,  your  Highness?"  she  asked. 
"Said  you — 'wash  up  the  dishes'?" 

"Oh!"  said  Rebecca,  conscious  for  the  first  time  of 
her  slip,  "did  that  puzzle  ye?" 

"Do  queens  and  princesses  perform  menial  offices 
in  America?"  asked  the  Honorable  Lady  Margaret. 

280 


HOW  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID  HOMAGE 

Short  as  was  the  time  allowed,  it  had  sufficed  for 
Rebecca  to  compose  a  form  of  words  which  should 
not  wound  her  conscience  by  direct  falsehood,  while 
not  undeceiving  her  hearers  as  to  her  rank. 

"Why,  to  tell  ye  the  truth,"  she  said,  in  a  semi- 
confidential  manner,  "all  the  queens  and  princesses 
there  are  in  America  wash  the  dishes  after  dinner." 

There  was  some  whispering  among  the  girls  at  this, 
and  Rebecca's  ears  caught  the  expressions  "passing 
strange"  and  "most  wonderful"  more  than  once. 

She  waited  until  the  first  excitement  thus  produced 
had  subsided  and  then  proceeded. 

"Of  course  Cousin  Ann  hadn't  no  objection,  an' 
so  I  went  into  the  kitchen.  When  we  got  through, 
blest  ef  she  didn't  ask  me  to  wash  out  the  dish-towels 
while  she  filled  the  lamps!  Now " 

The  growing  amazement  in  the  round,  open  eyes 
and  shaking  curls  of  her  audience  brought  Rebecca 
once  more  to  a  standstill.  Evidently  some  further 
explanation  of  this  unwonted  state  of  things  would 
be  expected.  To  gain  time  for  further  invention, 
Rebecca  rose  and  carried  her  knitting  to  the  window 
as  though  to  pick  up  a  stitch.  Mechanically  she 
glanced  down  into  the  court-yard,  where  there  was 
now  a  large  assemblage,  and  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  astonishment. 

"Gracious  alive!"  she  cried.  "If  there  ain't  a  bi 
cycle!  Well,  well,  don't  that  look  nat'ral,  now! 
Makes  me  feel  homesick." 

She  turned  to  her  companions,  each  of  whom  was 
281 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

ceremoniously  standing,  but  all  showing  clearly  in 
their  faces  the  curiosity  which  consumed  them. 

"Come  'long!"  said  Rebecca,  smiling.  "Come  one 
and  all !  I'm  blest  ef  ye  don't  make  me  think  of  Si 
Fray's  dog  waitin'  to  be  whistled  fer  when  Si  goes 
out  to  walk." 

The  obedience  to  this  summons  was  prompt  and 
willing,  and  Rebecca  turned  again  to  observe  those 
who  came  with  the  mysterious  bicycle. 

"Land  o'  sunshine!"  she  exclaimed,  "did  ye  ever 
see  sech  a  fat  man  as  that!  Do  any  of  you  girls 
know  who  'tis?" 

"  'Tis  Sir  Percevall  Hart,  harbinger  to  the  Queen, 
I  ween,"  Clarissa  replied. 

"Gracious!"  said  Rebecca,  anxiously.  "I  do  hope 
now  he  ain't  bringin'  any  very  bad  news!" 

"Wherefore  should  he,  your  Highness?"  said  Cla 
rissa. 

"Why,  if  he's  a  harbinger  of  woe — ain't  that  what 
they  call  'em?"  she  spoke,  with  some  timidity. 

"Nay,"  said  the  Lady  Margaret.  "Sir  Percevall 
is  reputed  a  wit  and  a  pleasant  companion,  your 
Highness.  He  is  harbinger  to  the  Queen." 

"An'  who's  the  man  with  him  in  black  togs  an' 
rumpled  stockin's?"  said  Rebecca.  "The  one  holdin' 
the  bicycle?" 

"Mean  you  him  holding  the  two  bright  wheels, 
your  Highness?" 

"Yes." 

Lady  Margaret  could  not  answer,  nor  could  any 
282 


HOW  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID  HOMAGE 

of  the  other  attendants.  Could  Rebecca  have  had 
a  more  advantageous  view  of  the  stranger,  she  would 
herself  have  been  the  only  one  in  the  palace  to  rec 
ognize  him.  She  could  only  see  his  hat  and  his 
borrowed  clothes,  however,  and  her  curiosity  re 
mained  unsatisfied. 

"That  looks  like  Copernicus  Droop's  wheel,"  she 
muttered.  "I  wonder  ef  somebody's  ben  an'  stole 
it  while  he  was  away.  'Twould  serve  him  right  fer 
givin'  me  the  slip." 

Then  turning  to  Lady  Margaret  again,  she  con 
tinued  : 

"Would  you  mind  runnin'  down  to  ask  who  that 
man  is,  Miss  Margaret?  Seems  to  me  I  know  that 
bicycle." 

Courtesying  in  silence,  the  maid  backed  out  of  the 
room  and  hurried  down  the  stairs  quite  afire  with  the 
eagerness  of  her  curiosity.  This  strange,  bright- 
wheeled  thing  to  which  the  American  princess  so 
easily  applied  a  name,  could  only  be  some  wonderful 
product  of  the  New  World.  She  was  overjoyed  at 
the  thought  that  she  was  to  be  the  first  to  closely 
examine  and  perhaps  to  touch  this  curiosity. 

Her  plans  were  delayed,  however,  for  when  she 
reached  the  court-yard  she  found  herself  restrained 
by  a  row  of  men  with  halberds,  one  of  whom  in 
formed  her  that  her  Majesty  was  returning  from 
chapel. 

The  Queen  and  her  retinue  were  obliged  to  pass 
across  the  courtyard  on  the  way  to  the  apartment 

283 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

where  Elizabeth  was  to  take  her  evening  meal.  Her 
progress  at  such  times  was  magnificently  accompa 
nied,  and  was  often  much  delayed  by  her  stopping 
to  notice  her  favorites  as  she  passed  them,  and  even 
at  times  to  receive  petitions. 

Copernicus,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  had  just  arrived, 
was  inclined  to  bewail  the  interruption  caused  by  this 
procession,  but  his  companion  insisted  that,  on  the 
contrary,  all  was  for  the  best. 

"Why,  man,"  said  he,  "Dame  Fortune  hath  us  in 
her  good  books  for  a  surety.  What !  Could  we  have 
planned  all  better  had  we  willed  it?  To  meet  the 
Queen  in  progress  from  chapel !  'Twill  go  hard  but 
Sir  Percevall  shall  win  his  suit — and  you,  Master 
Droop,  your  monopolies.  Mark  me  now — mark  me 
well!" 

So  saying,  the  fat  knight  advanced  and  joined  one 
of  the  long  lines  of  courtiers  already  forming  a  hedge 
on  each  side  of  the  direct  way  which  the  Queen  was 
to  traverse.  Droop,  leaning  his  bicycle  against  the 
palace  wall  and  taking  in  his  hands  his  phonograph 
and  box  of  cylinders,  placed  himself  behind  his 
guide  and  watched  the  proceedings  with  eager  cu 
riosity. 

A  door  opened  at  one  end  of  the  lane  between  the 
two  courtiers  and  there  appeared  the  first  of  a  long 
procession  of  splendidly  apparelled  gentlemen-in- 
waiting,  walking  bareheaded  two  by  two.  Of  these, 
the  first  were  simple  untitled  knights  and  gentlemen. 
These  were  followed  by  barons,  then  earls,  and  lastly 

284 


HOW  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID  HOMAGE 

knights  of  the  garter,  each  gentleman  vying  with 
the  others  in  richness  of  apparel  and  lavish  display 
of  collars,  orders,  jewelled  scabbards,  and  heavy 
chains  of  gold. 

Behind  these  there  came  three  abreast.  These 
were  the  Lord  High  Chancellor,  in  wig  and  robes, 
carrying  the  Great  Seal  of  England  in  a  red  silk  bag. 
On  his  right  walked  a  gentleman  carrying  the  golden 
sceptre,  jewelled  and  quaintly  worked,  while  he  on 
the  left  carried  the  sword  of  state,  point  up,  in  a  red 
scabbard,  studded  with  golden  fleur-de-lis. 

A  few  steps  behind  this  imposing  escort  came  the 
Queen,  with  a  small  but  richly  covered  prayer-book 
in  her  hand.  She  looked  very  majestic  on  this  occa 
sion,  being  dressed  in  white  silk  bordered  with  pearls 
of  the  size  of  beans,  over  which  was  thrown  a  mantle 
of  black  silk  shot  with  silver  threads.  An  oblong 
collar  of  jewelled  gold  lay  upon  her  otherwise  bare 
bosom. 

The  Queen's  train  was  very  long  and  was  carried 
by  a  marchioness,  whose  plain  attire  set  off  the  mag 
nificence  of  royalty. 

As  Elizabeth  proceeded  across  the  yard,  she  spoke 
to  one  by-stander  or  another,  and  Droop,  looking  on, 
made  up  his  mind  that  the  rule  was  that  anyone  to 
whom  she  addressed  a  word,  or  even  a  look,  should 
drop  forthwith  to  his  knees  and  so  remain  until  she 
had  passed,  unless  she  pleased  to  extend  her  hand 
to  raise  him  up. 

On  each  side  of  this  main  procession  there  was  a 
285 


THE   PANCHRONICON 

single  file  of  five  and  twenty  gentlemen  pensioners, 
each  carrying  a  gilt  battle-axe. 

The  remainder  of  the  procession  consisted  of  a 
train  of  court  ladies  all  dressed  in  white  and  nearly 
destitute  of  ornaments.  Evidently  the  Royal  Virgin 
would  suffer  no  rivalry  in  dress  from  those  of  her 
own  sex. 

Just  behind  Elizabeth  and  to  one  side,  in  such  a 
position  as  to  be  within  easy  reach  for  consultation, 
walked  the  Lord  High  Treasurer,  William  Cecil, 
Baron  of  Burleigh.  It  was  to  this  nobleman  that 
his  nephew,  Erancis  Bacon,  had  addressed  the  letter 
which  he  had  given  to  Copernicus  Droop. 

By  dint  of  much  squeezing  and  pushing,  Sir  Perce- 
vall  made  his  way  to  the  front  of  the  waiting  line, 
and,  as  Elizabeth  approached,  he  dropped  painfully 
to  his  knees,  and,  with  hat  in  hand,  gazed  earnestly 
into  the  Queen's  face,  not  daring  to  speak  first,  but 
with  a  petition  writ  large  in  every  feature. 

Now,  Elizabeth  was  most  jealous  of  her  dignity, 
and  valued  her  own  favors  very  highly.  In  her  eyes 
it  was  downright  impertinence  at  a  time  like  this 
for  anyone  to  solicit  the  honor  of  her  attention  by 
kneeling  before  he  was  noticed. 

Knowing  this,  Burleigh,  who  recognized  the 
knight  and  wished  him  well,  motioned  to  him  ear 
nestly  to  rise.  Alarmed,  Sir  Percevall  made  a  des 
perate  effort  to  obey  the  hint,  and,  despite  his  huge 
bulk,  would  perhaps  have  succeeded  in  regaining  his 
feet  without  attracting  the  notice  of  the  Queen  but 

286 


HOW  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID  HOMAGE 

for  the  impatient  movement  of  the  crowd  behind 
him.  Unfortunately,  however,  he  had  but  half  risen 
when  the  bustling  multitude  moved  forward  a  little 
against  his  expansive  rear.  The  result  was  disas 
trous. 

Sir  Percevall  lost  his  balance,  and,  feeling  himself 
toppling,  threw  his  hands  out  forward  with  a  cry  and 
fell  flat  on  his  face. 

Elizabeth  was  at  this  moment  addressing  a  few 
gracious  words  to  a  white-haired  courtier,  who 
kneeled  among  those  gathered  on  the  right  of  her 
line  of  progress.  Startled  by  the  loud  cry  of  the 
falling  knight,  she  turned  swiftly  and  saw  at  her 
feet  a  man  of  monstrous  girth  struggling  in  vain 
to  raise  his  unwieldy  form.  His  plumed  hat  had 
rolled  to  some  distance,  exposing  a  bald  head  with 
two  gray  tufts  over  the  ears.  His  sword  stood  on 
its  hilt,  with  point  in  air,  and  his  short,  fat  legs  made 
quick  alternate  efforts  to  bend  beneath  him — efforts 
which  the  fleshy  knees  successfully  resisted. 

The  helpless,  jerking  limbs,  the  broad,  rolling 
body,  and  the  mixture  of  expletives  and  frantic  apol 
ogies  poured  forth  by  the  prostrate  knight  turned  the 
Queen's  first  ready  alarm  to  irrepressible  laughter, 
in  which  the  by-standers  joined  to  their  great  relief. 
Droop  alone  was  grave,  for  he  could  only  see  in  this 
accident  the  ruin  of  his  plans. 

"£Tow,  by  the  rood!"  cried  the  Queen,  as  soon  as 
she  could  speak  distinctly,  "fain  would  we  see  your 
face,  good  gentleman.  Of  all  our  subjects,  not  one 

287 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

doth  us  such  low  obeisance!"     Then,  beckoning  to 
those  of  her  gentleman  pensioners  who  stood  nearest : 

"Kaise  us  yon  mighty  subject  of  ours,  whose  great 
ness  we  might  in  our  majesty  brook  but  ill  did  not 
his  humble  bearing  proclaim  a  loyal  submission." 

Four  gentlemen,  dropping  their  gilt  axes,  hastened 
to  Sir  Percevall's  aid,  raising  him  by  the  arms  and 
shoulders. 

"Enough — enough,  lads!"  cried  the  knight,  when 
they  had  got  him  to  his  knees.  "Let  it  not  be  said 
that  Sir  Percevall  Hart  dared  to  tempt  erect  the 
dreadful  glance  of  majesty.  Here  let  him  lowly 
bend  beneath  the  eyes  that  erstwhile  laid  him  low." 

Still  holding  him,  the  four  gentlemen  turned  their 
eyes  to  the  Queen  for  orders,  and  Sir  Percevall, 
clasping  his  mud-stained  hands,  addressed  himself 
directly  to  Elizabeth,  in  whose  still  laughing  face  he 
foresaw  success. 

"O  Majesty  of  England!"  he  cried.  "Marvel  not 
at  this  my  sudden  fall — for  when,  with  more  than 
royal  glory  is  linked  the  potency  of  virgin  loveliness, 
who  can  withstand!" 

"Why,  how  now,  Sir  Knight !"  said  Elizabeth,  ban- 
teringly.  "Are  we  less  lovely  or  less  awful  now  than 
a  moment  since?  You  seem  at  least  one  half  re 
stored." 

"Nay,  your  Majesty,"  was  the  reply.  "  'Tis  his 
sovereign's  will  and  high  command  that  stiffens  poor 
Percy's  limbs,  and  in  obedience  only  that  he  finds 
strength  to  present  his  suit." 

288 


HOW  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID  HOMAGE 

"A  suit!"  she  exclaimed.  "Pride  cometh  before 
a  fall,  'tis  said.  Then,  in  sooth,  by  the  rule  of  con 
traries,  a  fall  should  presage  humility's  reward. 
"What  says  my  Lord  Baron?" 

She  turned  to  Burleigh,  who  smiled  and,  bowing, 
replied: 

"So  witty  a  flight  to  so  sound  a  conclusion  Cecil 
could  not  have  winged  alone,  but  where  majesty 
teacheth  wisdom,  who  shall  refuse  it!" 

"  'Tis  well!"  said  Elizabeth,  more  soberly.  "Eise, 
Sir  Knight,  and,  when  that  we  have  supped,  seek 
audience  again.  An  the  petition  be  in  reason,  'twill 
not  suffer  for  the  fall  you  have  had." 

With  this  speech,  Sir  Percevall's  first  audience 
ended,  and  it  was  with  a  happy  face  that  he  suffered 
himself  to  be  helped  to  his  feet  by  the  four  gentle 
men  who  had  first  been  sent  to  his  aid. 

As  the  Queen  resumed  her  progress  and  entered 
the  apartments  wherein  she  was  to  prepare  for  her 
evening  meal,  there  resounded  through  the  palace 
the  ringing  notes  of  trumpets  and  the  musical  boom 
ing  of  a  kettle-drum. 

In  a  large  antechamber  immediately  outside  of  the 
room  where  the  Queen  was  to  sup  there  was  placed 
a  splendidly  carved  table  of  black  oak,  and  here  were 
made  all  the  preparations  for  her  repast,  accompanied 
by  the  usual  ceremonies. 

Moving  to  the  sound  of  trumpets  and  drum,  two 
gentlemen  entered  the  room,  the  first  bearing  a  rod 
and  the  second  a  table-cloth.  Advancing  one  behind 

289 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

the  other,  they  kneeled  three  times  between  the  door 
and  table,  apparently  expressing  the  deepest  venera 
tion.  Having  spread  the  table,  they  retired  back 
ward,  not  forgetting  to  repeat  the  genuflections  as 
performed  on  their  approach. 

These  first  two  were  followed  immediately  by  two 
other  gentlemen,  the  first  with  a  rod  and  the  other 
carrying  a  salt-seller,  plates,  and  bread.  These  arti 
cles  were  carried  to  the  table  with  the  same  cere 
mony  as  had  attended  the  spreading  of  the  cloth. 

Next  there  entered  a  young  lady,  whose  coronet 
indicated  the  rank  of  countess  and  whose  uncovered 
bosom  proclaimed  the  unmarried  state.  She  was  ac 
companied  by  a  married  lady  of  lower  rank,  carrying 
a  knife.  The  Countess  rubbed  the  plates  with  bread 
and  salt,  and  then  the  two  ladies  stood  awhile  by  the 
table,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  supper. 

Finally  there  entered,  one  at  a  time,  twenty-four 
yeomen  of  the  guard,  the  tallest  and  handsomest 
men  in  the  royal  service,  bareheaded  and  clothed  in 
scarlet  coats,  with  roses  embroidered  in  gold  thread 
on  their  backs.  Each  yeoman  carried  a  separate  spe 
cial  dish  intended  for  the  royal  repast,  and,  as  each 
approached  the  table,  the  lady  with  the  knife  cut  off 
and  placed  in  his  mouth  a  portion  of  the  food  which 
he  was  carrying.  After  depositing  their  dishes  upon 
the  table,  the  yeomen  departed  and  the  maids  of 
honor  then  approached  and  carried  the  dishes  into 
the  inner  room,  where  the  Queen  sat  at  her 
supper. 

290 


HOW  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID  HOMAGE 

Of  all  those  who  thus  advanced  to  the  table  and 
departed  walking  backward,  none  omitted  the  rever 
ent  kneelings,  nor  did  anyone  concerned  in  all  this 
ceremony  speak  a  word  until  it  was  concluded.  Al 
though  the  Queen  was  actually  absent,  in  fiction  she 
was  present,  and  it  was  to  this  fiction  that  so  much 
reverence  was  paid. 

Shortly  after  the  commencement  of  these  prepara 
tions,  Droop  and  his  guide  appeared  among  other 
petitioners  and  other  lookers-on  around  the  door 
ways.  Copernicus  carried  his  phonographic  appara 
tus,  but  the  bicycle  had  been  left  in  the  court-yard 
in  the  care  of  a  man-at-arms. 

"Jiminy!"  said  Droop,  looking  curiously  about 
him,  "ain't  this  A  No.  1,  though!  Et  must  be  fun 
to  be  a  queen,  eh,  Percevall?" 

"To  speak  truly,  my  lad,"  said  the  knight,  "there 
is  something  too  much  of  bravery  and  pomp  in  the 
accidents  of  royalty.  What !  Can  a  king  unbend — 
be  merry — a  good  fellow  with  his  equals?  No !  And 
would  you  or  I  barter  this  freedom  for  a  crown?" 
He  shook  his  head.  "Which  think  you  passed  the 
merrier  night — or  the  Queen  (God's  blessing  on  her) 
or  you  and  I?" 

Droop  paid  little  heed  to  his  companion,  for  his 
eyes  were  busy  with  the  unwonted  scene  before  him. 

"Well,  now!"  he  exclaimed.  "Look  there,  Sir 
Knight.  See  how  the  old  lady  digs  out  a  piece  o' 
that  pie  and  pokes  it  into  that  lord's  mouth!  He 
must  be  mighty  hungry!  I'm  darned  ef  I'd  thought 

291 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

they'd  hev  let  him  hev  his  grub  before  the  Queen 
— and  out  of  her  own  dish,  too!" 

"Nay,  Brother  Droop,"  said  the  Englishman,  "this 
custom  hath  its  origin  in  the  necessary  precaution 
of  our  sovereign.  Who  knows  but  that  poison  be  in 
this  food !  Have  not  a  score  of  scurvy  plots  been  laid 
against  her  life?  'Tis  well  to  test  what  is  meant  for 
the  use  of  majesty." 

Droop  whistled  low. 

"Thet's  the  wrinkle,  eh?"  he  said.  "I  don't  guess 
I'd  be  much  tempted  to  take  a  job  here  as  a  taster, 
then!  Hello!"  he  said.  "Why,  they're  takin'  the 
victuals  out  o'  the  room.  What's  that  f er  ?  Did  they 
find  p'ison  in  'em?" 

Sir  Percevall  did  not  reply.  His  attention  had 
been  caught  by  the  arrival  of  a  strangely  dressed 
woman,  apparently  attended  by  six  maids  of  honor. 

Turning  to  a  gentleman  at  his  elbow: 

"Can  you  tell  me,  sir,"  he  said,  "who  is  yonder 
stranger  in  outlandish  apparel?" 

Following  the  speaker's  eyes,  the  gentleman  stared 
for  a  few  moments  and  then  replied : 

"Marry,  sir,  it  can  but  be  the  American  princess 
with  her  retinue.  They  say  that  her  Majesty  much 
affects  this  strange  new-comer." 

It  was,  indeed,  Rebecca  who,  in  response  to  an 
invitation  brought  by  a  page  in  the  Queen's  livery, 
was  on  the  way  to  take  supper  with  Elizabeth.  On 
her  arrival  at  the  anteroom  door,  an  attendant  went 
in  before  the  Queen  to  announce  her  presence;  and, 

292 


HOW  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID  HOMAGE 

while  awaiting  admission,  Rebecca  gazed  about  her 
with  a  curiosity  still  unsatisfied. 

"There,  now,"  she  was  saying,  "  'twas  suttenly 
too  bad  to  send  you  off  on  a  wild-goose  chase,  Miss 
Margaret.  Ef  you  could  hev  found  the  man,  I'd  hev 
ben  glad,  though." 

At  that  very  moment,  a  voice  close  beside  her 
made  her  start  violently. 

"Well — well!  I  declare!  Rebecca  Wise,  how 
do  you  do!" 

She  turned  and  saw  him  of  whom  she  was  at  that 
moment  speaking,  and  lo !  to  her  amazement,  it  was 
Copernicus  Droop  who  held  out  his  right  hand. 

"Copernicus  Droop!"  she  gasped.  Then,  remem 
bering  her  adventure  of  the  previous  day,  she  went 
on  coldly,  without  noticing  the  proffered  hand:  "Ye 
seem  right  glad  to  see  me  now,  Mr.  Droop." 

Droop  was  taken  aback  at  her  manner  and  at  the 
sarcastic  emphasis  laid  upon  the  word  "now." 

"Why — why — of  course,"  he  stammered.  "I 
thought  you  was  lost." 

"Lost!"  she  cried,  indignantly.  "Lost!  Why,  you 
know  right  well  I  chased  you  up  one  street  and  down 
the  other  all  the  mornin'  yesterday.  You  tried  to 
lose  me,  Mr.  Droop — and  now  you  find  me  again, 
you  see.  Oh,  yes,  you  must  be  glad  to  see  me !" 

Droop  was  at  first  all  astonishment  at  this  accu 
sation,  but  in  a  few  moments  he  guessed  the  true 
state  of  the  case.  Without  delay  he  explained  the 
exchange  of  clothes,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  persuad- 

293 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

ing  Rebecca  that  it  was  Francis  Bacon  whom  she 
had  pursued  by  mistake. 

"Poor  young  man!"  Rebecca  exclaimed,  in  a  low 
voice  of  contrition.  "Why,  he  must  hev  took  me 
fer  a  lunatic!" 

Then  she  suddenly  recollected  her  young  attend 
ants,  and  turned  so  as  to  bring  them  on  one  hand 
and  Droop  on  the  other. 

"Young  ladies,"  she  said,  primly,  "this  here's  Mr. 
Copernicus  Droop,  from  America." 

With  one  accord  the  six  girls  dropped  their  eyes 
and  courtesied  low. 

"Mr.  Droop,"  Rebecca  continued,  as  she  indicated 
one  of  the  girls  after  the  other  with  her  forefinger, 
"make  you  acquainted  with  Miss  Clarissa,  Miss  Mar 
garet,  Miss  Maria,  Miss  Gertrude,  Miss  Evelina,  and 
Miss  Dorothy.  They've  got  sech  tangled-up  last 
names,  I  declare  I  can't  keep  'em  in  my  head.  Mr. 
Droop's  the  same  rank  I  am,"  she  concluded,  address 
ing  the  girls. 

Droop  fidgeted  and  bowed  six  awkward  bows  with 
eyes  riveted  to  the  ground.  He  had  never  been  a 
ladies'  man,  and  this  unexpected  presentation  was  a 
doubly  trying  ordeal. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  "your  Highness"  from  the 
courtesying  young  women  which  convinced  the 
abashed  Yankee  that  he  was  being  mocked,  and  this 
impression  was  deepened  by  the  ill-suppressed  gig 
gles  occasioned  by  the  sight  of  his  sadly  rumpled 
hose.  His  confusion  was  complete. 

294 


HOW  THE  FAT  KNIGHT  DID   HOMAGE 

"Now,  tell  me,"  said  Rebecca,  curiously,  "what 
ever  brought  you  up  here?  Hev  ye  some  errand 
with  the  Queen?" 

"Yes,"  said  Droop.  "My  friend  and  me  came  up 
here  to  get  a  patent.  Say,"  he  exclaimed,  brighten 
ing  up  with  startling  suddenness,  "praps  you  know 
the  racket — got  the  inside  track,  eh?" 

"Inside  track!" 

"Yes.  Don't  you  know  the  Patent  Examiner — 
or  Commissioner,  or  Lord  High  Thingummy  that 
runs  the  Patent  Office  here?  I  hate  to  bother  the 
Queen  about  sech  things!  Goodness  knows,  I'd 
never  ha'  thought  o'  troublin'  President  McKinley 
about  patents!" 

Rebecca  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  blest  ef  I  know  the  fust  thing  about  it,"  she 
declared.  "Ef  you  take  my  advice,  you'll  not  bother 
Miss,  Elizabeth  'bout  your  old  patents." 

At  this  moment  the  page  returned. 

"Her  Majesty  awaits  your  Royal  Highness  with 
in,"  he  said,  bowing  deeply. 

Droop's  jaws  fell  apart  and  his  eyes  opened  wide. 

"Royal  Highness!"  he  murmured. 

"Well,  I've  got  to  go  now,"  said  Rebecca,  smiling 
at  her  friend's  astonishment.  "But  don't  you  go  'way 
fer  a  while  yet.  I'll  try  an'  get  the  Queen  to  let 
you  in  soon.  I  want  to  talk  with  you  'bout  lots  of 
things." 

In  a  moment  she  was  gone,  leaving  Copernicus 
rooted  to  the  floor  and  dumb  with  amazement. 

295 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Someone  touched  his  elbow  and,  turning,  he  saw 
Sir  Percevall,  with  the  light  of  triumph  on  his  fat 
face. 

"Fortune's  smiles  have  turned  to  mere  laughter, 
my  lad,"  he  said,  chuckling.  "This  American  prin 
cess  hath  the  Queen's  good-will.  How  the  fiend's 
name  came  you  acquainted?" 


296 


CHAPTER    XIV 


In  the  inner  chamber,  Elizabeth  was  seated  at  a 
small  table,  at  the  opposite  end  of  which  sat  Rebecca. 
Burleigh,  Nottingham,  and  two  or  three  other  great 
lords  stood  near  at  hand,  while  one  dish  after  an 
other  was  brought  in  from  the  outer  room  by  maids 
of  honor. 

Standing  to  the  right  of  the  Queen's  chair  was  a 
dark  man  of  foreign  aspect,  wearing  the  robes  of  a 
Doctor  of  Laws.  In  his  hand  was  Rebecca's  copy  of 
the  New  York  World,  which  he  was  perusing  with 
an  expression  of  the  utmost  perplexity. 

"Well,  Master  Guido,"  said  the  Queen,  "what 
make  you  of  it?" 

"Maesta  eccellentissima — "  the  scholar  began. 

"Nay — nay.  Speak  good  plain  English,  man," 
said  the  Queen.  "The  Lady  Rebecca  hath  no  Ital 
ian." 

Messer  Guido  bowed  and  began  again,  speaking 
with  a  scarcely  perceptible  accent. 

"Most  Excellent  Majesty,  I  have  but  begun  perusal 
of  this  document.  It  promiseth  matter  for  ten  good 

297 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

years'  research  in  the  comparison  of  parts,  interpre 
tation  of  phrases,  identifying  customs,  manners, 
dress,  and  the  like." 

"Nay,  then,"  said  the  Queen,  "with  the  help  of 
the  Lady  Rebecca,  'twill  be  no  weighty  task,  me- 
thinks.  My  lady,  why  partake  you  not  of  the  pasty?" 
she  said,  turning  to  Rebecca.  "Hath  it  not  a  very 
proper  savor?" 

"My,  yes,"  Rebecca  replied;  "it's  mighty  good  pie! 
Somehow,  though,  pie  don't  lay  very  good  with  me 
these  days.  Ye  don't  happen  to  have  any  tea,  do 
ye?" 

"Tea!" 

"If  I  may  venture — "  said  Guido,  eagerly. 

"Speak,  Messer  Guido." 

"Why,  it  would  appear,  your  Majesty,  that  tea  is 
a  sort  of  stuff  for  dresses — silk,  belike." 

"Stuff  for  dresses!"  said  Rebecca.  "Stuff  and  non 
sense!  Why,  tea's  a  drink!" 

"A  beverage!  Then  how  explain  you  this?"  the 
Italian  cried,  triumphantly.  Lifting  the  newspaper, 
he  read  from  it  the  following  passage :  "The  illustra 
tion  shows  a  charming  tea-gown,  a  creation  of  Mme. 
Decollete." 

"You  see,  Maesta — your  Majesty — it  is  clear.  A 
'tea-gown'  is  shown  in  the  drawing — a  gown  made 
of  tea." 

Rebecca  had  opened  her  mouth  to  overwhelm  the 
poor  savant  with  the  truth  when  a  page  entered  and 
stood  before  the  Queen. 

298 


THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEV ALL'S  SUIT 

"Well,  sirrah,"  said  Elizabeth,  "what  is  your 
message?" 

"Sir  Percevall  Hart  craves  an  audience,  your 
Majesty,  for  himself  and  his  American  friend  and 
client." 

"Another  American!"  exclaimed  the  Queen. 

"Copernicus  Droop!"  cried  Rebecca. 

"Know  you  Sir  Percevall's  friend,  Lady  Rebecca?" 
asked  Elizabeth. 

"Why,  yes,  your  Majesty.  He  and  I  came  over 
together  from  Peltonville.  I  believe  he's  after  a 
patent." 

"A  patent?  What  mean  you?  Doth  he  ask  for 
a  patent  of  nobility — a  title?  Can  this  be  the  s^iit 
of  the  fat  knight?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Rebecca.  " 'Tain't  nothin' 
'bout  nobility,  I'm  sure,  though.  It's  a  patent  on  a 
phonograph,  I  b'lieve." 

"Know  you  aught  of  this,  my  lord?"  said  Elizabeth, 
turning  to  Burleigh. 

"Why,  yes,  your  Majesty.  I  have  to-day  received 
from  Sir  Percevall  Hart  a  letter  written  by  my 
nephew,  Francis  Bacon " 

"Bacon!  What!  Ay — methinks  we  know  some 
what  of  this  same  Francis,"  said  the  Queen,  grimly. 
"A  member  of  Parliament,  is  he  not?" 

"Even  so,  your  Majesty,"  said  Burleigh,  some 
what  crestfallen.  "From  this  letter  I  learn,"  he  con 
tinued,  while  Elizabeth  shook  her  head,  "that  this 

American — a  Master  Dupe,  I  believe " 

299 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

—no — Droop!"  cried  Rebecca.  "Copernicus 
Droop." 

The  baron  bowed. 

"That  this  Master  Droop  desires  the  grant  of  a 
monopoly  in " 

"A  monopoly!"  cried  Elizabeth.  "What!  This 
independent  young  barrister — this  parliamentary 
meddler  in  opposition,  forsooth!  He  craveth  a  mo 
nopoly?  God's  death!  A  monopoly  in  all  the  impu 
dence  in  this  our  realm  is  of  a  surety  this  fellow's 
right!  We  grant  it — we  grant  it.  Let  the  papers 
be  drawn  forthwith!" 

The  baron  bent  before  the  storm  and,  bowing, 
remained  silent.  Rebecca,  however,  could  scarce  see 
the  justice  of  the  Queen's  position. 

"Well,  but  look  here,  your  Majesty,"  she  said. 
"'Tain't  Mr.  Bacon  as  wants  this  patent;  it's  Mr. 
Droop.  Mr.  Bacon  only  gave  him  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Burleigh  here." 

Astonishment  was  depicted  in  every  face  save  in 
that  of  the  Queen,  whose  little  eyes  were  now  turned 
upon  her  sister  sovereign  in  anger. 

"Harkye,  Lady  Rebecca!"  she  exclaimed.  "Is  it 
the  custom  to  take  the  Queen  to  task  in  your  realm?" 

Rebecca's  reply  came  pat.  The  type  was  prepared 
beforehand,  and  she  answered  now  with  a  clear  con 
science. 

"Why,  of  course.  We  talk  jest  as  we  feel  like  to 
all  the  queens  there  is  in  my  country." 

The  equivocation  in  this  reply  must  have  struck 
300 


THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEV ALL'S  SUIT 

the  Queen,  for  she  said,  without  taking  her  eyes 
from  Rebecca's  face: 

"And,  prithee,  Lady  Rebecca,  how  many  queens  be 
there  in  America?  We  begin  to  doubt  if  royalty  be 
known  there." 

Again  Messer  Guido  evinced  signs  of  an  anxious 
desire  to  speak,  and  Rebecca  shrewdly  took  advan 
tage  of  this  at  once. 

"Messer  Guido  can  tell  you  all  'bout  that,  I  guess," 
she  said. 

Elizabeth  turned  her  eyes  to  the  savant. 

"What  knowledge  have  you  of  this,  learned  doc 
tor?"  she  asked,  coldly. 

"Why,  your  Majesty,"  said  Guido,  with  delighted 
zeal,  "the  case  is  plain.  Will  your  Majesty  but  look 
at  this  drawing  on  one  of  the  inner  pages  of  the 
printed  document  brought  by  the  Lady  Rebecca? 
Behold  the  effigy  of  a  powder  canister,  with  the 
words  'Royal  Baking  Powder'  thereon.  This  would 
appear  evidence  that  in  America  gunpowder  is 
known  and  is  used  by  the  sovereigns  of  the  various 
tribes.  Here  again  we  see  'The  Royal  Corset,'  and 
there  'Crown  Shirts.'  Can  it  be  doubted  that  the 
Americans  have  royal  governors?" 

The  Queen's  face  cleared  a  little  at  this,  and  Guido 
proceeded  with  increased  animation: 

"Behold  further  upon  the  front  page,  your  Maj 
esty,  the  effigy  of  a  man  wearing  a  round  crown 
with  a  peak  or  projecting  shelf  over  the  eyes.  Un 
der  this  we  read  the  legend  'The  Czar  of  the  Tender- 

301 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

loin.'  Now,  your  Majesty  will  remember  that  the 
ruler  of  Muscovy  is  termed  the  Czar.  The  Tender 
loin  signifieth,  doubtless,  some  order,  akin,  per 
chance,  to  the  Garter." 

"This  hath  a  plausible  bent,  Messer  Guido,"  said 
Elizabeth,  with  more  good-nature.  "Lady  Rebecca, 
can  you  better  explain  this  matter  of  the  Czar?" 

"No,  indeed,"  Rebecca  replied,  with  perfect  truth, 
blister  Guido  must  have  a  fine  mind  to  understand 
things  like  that!" 

"In  sooth,  good  Messer  Guido,"  said  Elizabeth, 
with  a  smile,  "your  research  and  power  of  logic  do 
you  great  credit.  We  doubt  not  to  learn  more  of 
these  new  empires  from  your  learned  pains  than  ever 
from  Raleigh,  Drake,  and  the  other  travellers  whose 
dull  wits  go  but  to  the  surface  of  things.  But,  Lord 
warrant  us!"  she  continued,  "here  standeth  our  page, 
having  as  yet  no  answer.  Go,  sirrah,  and  bid  Sir 
Percevall  and  this  great  American  to  our  presence 
straight." 

Then,  turning  again  to  Guido,  she  said: 

"Messer  Guido,  we  enjoin  it  upon  your  learning 
that  you  do  make  a  note  of  the  petition  of  this  Amer 
ican,  as  well  as  of  those  things  which  he  may  answer 
in  explanation  of  his  design." 

With  a  bow,  Guido  stepped  to  one  side  and,  care 
fully  folding  the  newspaper,  drew  from  his  bosom 
his  tablets  and  prepared  to  obey. 

All  eyes  turned  curiously  to  the  door  as  it  opened 
to  admit  the  two  suitors,  who  were  followed  by  the 

302 


THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEV ALL'S  SUIT 

page.  Sir  Percevall,  with  plumed  hat  in  one  hand 
and  sword  hilt  in  the  other,  advanced  ponderously, 
bowing  low  at  every  other  step.  Droop  hurriedly 
deposited  his  two  boxes  upon  the  floor  and  followed 
his  monitor,  closely  imitating  his  every  step  and  gest 
ure.  Having  no  sword,  he  thought  it  best  to  put 
his  left  hand  into  his  bosom,  an  attitude  which  he 
recollected  in  a  picture  of  Daniel  Webster. 

The  fat  knight  was  about  to  kneel  to  kiss  the  royal 
hand,  but  Elizabeth,  smiling,  detained  him. 

"Nay,  nay!"  she  said.  "You,  Sir  Percevall,  have 
paid  your  debt  of  homage  in  advance  for  a  twelve 
month.  He  who  kisses  the  dust  at  our  feet  hath 
knelt  for  ten."  Then,  turning  to  Droop,  who  was 
down  on  both  knees,  with  his  hand  still  in  his  breast : 
"What  now!"  she  exclaimed.  "Hath  your  hand  suf 
fered  some  mischance,  Sir  American,  that  you  hide 
it  in  your  bosom?" 

<rN"ot  a  mite — not  a  mite!"  Droop  stuttered, 
quickly  extending  the  member  in  question,  "^ay, 
your  Majesty — in  sooth,  no — my  hand  beeth  all 
right!" 

"We  learn  from  the  Lord  Treasurer,"  said  Eliza 
beth,  addressing  Sir  Percevall,  "that  your  petition 
hath  reference  to  a  monopoly.  Know  you  not,  Sir 
Knight,  that  these  be  parlous  days  for  making  of 
new  monopolies?  Our  subjects  murmur,  and  'tis  said 
that  we  have  already  been  too  generous  with  these 
great  gifts.  Have  you  considered  of  this?" 

liege,"  said  Sir  Percevall,  "these  things  have 
303 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

we  considered.  Nor  would  we  tempt  this  awful  Pres 
ence  with  petitions  looking  to  tax  further  the  public 
patience.  But,  please  your  Majesty,  Master  Droop, 
my  client  here,"  indicating  the  still  kneeling  man 
with  a  sweeping  gesture,  "hath  brought  into  being 
an  instrument,  or  rather  two  instruments,  of  marvel 
lous  fashion  and  of  powers  strange.  Of  these  your 
Majesty's  subjects  have  had  hitherto  no  knowledge, 
and  it  is  in  the  making  and  selling  of  these  within 
this  realm  that  we  do  here  crave  a  right  of  monopoly 
under  the  Great  Seal." 

"Excuse  me,  forsooth,  your  Majesty,"  Droop  broke 
in,  "but  would  thou  mind  if  I  get  up,  my  liege?" 

"Nay,  rise,  rise,  Master  Droop!"  exclaimed  the 
Queen,  smothering  a  laugh.  "We  find  matter  for 
favor  in  your  sponsor's  speech.  Can  you  more  fully 
state  the  nature  of  this  petition?" 

"Yes,  ma'am — your  Majesty,"  said  Droop,  rising 
and  dusting  off  his  knees.  "I  am  the  inventor  of  a 
couple  of  things,  forsooth,  that  are  away  ahead  of  the 
age.  Marry,  yes!  I  call  'em  a  bicycle  and  a  phono 
graph." 

"Well,  did  you  ever!"  murmured  Rebecca,  amazed 
at  this  impudent  claim  to  invention. 

Messer  Guido  paused  in  his  writing  and  began  to 
unfold  his  precious  American  newspaper,  while 
Droop  went  on,  encouraged  by  the  attentive  curios 
ity  which  he  had  evidently  excited  in  the  Queen. 

"Now,  the  bicycle — or  the  bike,  fer  short — is  a 
kind  of  a  wagon  or  vehycle,  you  wot.  When  you 

304 


THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEV ALL'S  SUIT 

mount  on  it,  you  can  trundle  yerself  along  like  all 
possessed " 

"Gramercy!"  broke  in  the  Queen,  in  a  tone  of 
irritation.  "What  have  we  here!  We  must  have 
plain  English,  Master  Droop.  American  idioms  are 
unknown  to  us." 

As  Droop  opened  his  mouth  to  reply,  Guido 
stepped  forward  with  a  great  rustling  of  paper. 

"May  it  please  your  Gracious  Majesty — "  he  pant 
ed,  eagerly. 

"Speak,  Messer  Guido." 

"I  would  fain  question  this  gentleman,  your  Maj 
esty,  touching  certain  things  contained  herein."  He 
shook  the  paper  at  arm's  length  and  glared  at  Droop, 
who  returned  the  look  with  a  calm  eye. 

"You  may  proceed,  sir,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Why,  Master  Droop,  you  that  are  the  inventor 
of  this  same  'bicycle,'  how  explain  you  this?" 

He  thrust  the  paper  under  Droop's  nose,  pointing 
to  an  advertisement  therein. 

"Here,"  he  continued,  "here  have  we  a  picture 
bearing  the  legend,  'Baltimore  Bicycle — Buy  No 
Other' — "  He  paused,  but  before  Copernicus  could 
speak  he  went  on  breathlessly:  "And  look  on  this, 
Master  Droop — see  here — here!  Another  drawing, 
this  time  with  the  legend,  'Edison's  Phonographs.' 
How  comes  it  that  you  have  invented  these  things? 
Can  you  invent  on  this  21st  day  of  May,  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  1598,  what  was  here  set  forth  as  early 
as — as — "  he  turned  the  paper  back  to  the  first  page, 

305 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"as  early  as  April — "  he  stopped,  turned  pale,  and 
choked.  Droop  looked  mildly  triumphant. 

"Well— well!"  cried  Elizabeth,  "hast  lost  thy 
voice,  man?" 

"My  liege,"  murmured  the  bewildered  savant, 
"the  date — this  document " 

"Is  dated  in  1898,"  said  Droop,  solemnly.  "This 
here  bike  and  phonograph  won't  be  invented  by  any 
one  else  for  three  hundred  years  yet." 

Elizabeth  frowned  angrily  and  grasped  the  arms 
of  her  chair  in  an  access  of  wrath  which,  after  a 
pause,  found  vent  in  a  torrent  of  words : 

"Now,  by  God's  death,  my  masters,  you  will  find 
it  ill  jesting  in  this  presence!  What  in  the  fiend's 
name!  Think  ye,  Elizabeth  of  England  may  be 
tricked  and  cozened — made  game  of  by  a  scurvy 
Italian  bookworm  and  a  witless " 

The  adjectives  and  expletives  which  followed  may 
not  be  reported  here.  As  the  storm  of  words  pro 
gressed,  growing  more  violent  in  its  continuance, 
Droop  stood  open-mouthed,  not  comprehending  the 
cause  of  this  tirade.  Of  the  others,  but  one  pre 
served  his  wits  at  this  moment  of  danger. 

Sir  Percevall,  well  aware  that  the  Queen's  fury, 
unless  checked,  would  produce  his  and  his  client's 
ruin,  determined  to  divert  this  flood  of  emotion  into 
a  new  channel.  With  the  insight  of  genius,  the  fat 
knight  realized  that  only  a  woman's  curiosity  could 
avert  a  queen's  rage,  and  with  what  speed  he  could 
he  stumbled  backward  to  where  Droop  had  left  his 

306 


THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEVALL'S  SUIT 

exhibits.  He  lifted  the  box  containing  the  phono 
graph  and,  taking  the  instrument  out,  held  it  on 
the  palm  of  his  huge  left  hand  and  bent  his  eyes  upon 
it  in  humble  and  resigned  contemplation. 

The  quick  roving  eye  of  the  angry  Queen  caught 
sight  of  this  queer  assemblage  of  cogs,  levers,  and 
cylinder,  and  for  the  first  time  her  too-ready  tongue 
tripped.  She  looked  away  and  recovered  herself  to 
the  end  of  the  sentence.  She  could  not  resist  an 
other  look,  however,  and  this  time  her  words  came 
more  slowly.  She  paused — wavered — and  then  fixed 
her  gaze  in  silence  upon  the  enigmatical  device. 
There  was  a  unanimous  smothered  sigh  as  the  by 
standers  recognized  their  good  fortune.  Guido, 
frightened  half  to  death,  slipped  unobserved  out  of 
a  side  door,  and  was  never  seen  at  Greenwich  again. 
Nor  has  that  fatal  newspaper  been  heard  from  since. 

"What  may  that  be,  Sir  Percevall?"  the  Queen 
inquired  at  length,  settling  back  in  her  chair  as  com 
fortably  as  her  ruff  would  permit. 

"This,  my  liege,  is  the  phonograph,"  said  the 
knight,  straightening  himself  proudly. 

"An  my  Greek  be  not  at  fault,"  said  the  Queen, 
"this  name  should  purport  a  writer  of  sound." 

Sir  Percevall's  face  fell.  He  was  no  Greek  scholar, 
and  this  query  pushed  him  hard.  Fortunately  for 
him,  Elizabeth  turned  to  Droop  as  she  concluded 
her  sentence. 

"Hath  your  invention  this  intent,  Master  Droop?" 
she  said. 

307 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Verily,  I  guess  you've  hit  it — I  wot  that's  right!" 
stammered  the  still  frightened  man. 

A  very  audible  murmur  of  admiration  passed  from 
one  to  another  of  the  assembled  courtiers  and  ladies- 
in-waiting.  These  expressions  reached  the  ears  of 
the  Queen,  for  whom  they  were  indeed  intended, 
and  the  consciousness  of  her  acumen  restored  Eliza 
beth  entirely  to  good-humor. 

"The  conceit  is  very  novel,  is  it  not,  my  lord?" 
she  said,  turning  to  Baron  Burleigh. 

"Novel,  indeed,  and  passing  marvellous  if  achieved, 
your  Majesty,"  was  the  suave  reply. 

"How  write  you  sounds  with  this  device,  Master 
Droop?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  thusly,  ma'am — your  Majesty,"  said  Droop, 
with  renewed  courage.  "One  speaketh,  you  wot — 
talketh-like  into  this  hole — this  aperture."  He 
turned  and  pointed  to  the  mouth-piece  of  the  instru 
ment,  which  was  still  in  Sir  Percevall's  hands.  "Hev- 
in'  done  this,  you  wot,  this  little  pin-like  pricketh  or 
scratcheth  the  wax,  an'  the  next  time  you  go  over 
the  thing,  there  you  are!" 

Conscious  of  the  lameness  of  this  explanation, 
Droop  hurried  on,  hoping  to  forestall  further  ques 
tions. 

"Let  me  show  ye,  my  liege,  how  she  works,  in 
sooth,"  he  said,  taking  the  phonograph  from  the 
knight.  Looking  all  about,  he  could  see  nothing  at 
hand  whereon  to  conveniently  rest  the  device. 

"Marry,  you  wouldn't  mind  ef  I  was  to  set  this 
308 


THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEV ALL'S  SUIT 

right  here  on  your  table,  would  ye,  my  liege?"  he 
asked. 

Permission  was  graciously  accorded,  and,  deposit 
ing  the  phonograph,  Droop  hurried  back  to  get  his 
records.  Holding  a  wax  cylinder  in  one  hand,  he 
proceeded. 

"Now,  your  Majesty  can  graciously  gaze  on  this 
wax  cylinder,"  he  said.  "On  here  we  hev  scrawled 
• — written — a  tune  played  by  a  cornet.  It  is  'Home, 
Sweet  Home.'  Ye've  heerd  it,  no  doubt?" 

"Nay,  the  title  is  not  familiar,"  said  the  Queen, 
looking  about  her.  With  one  accord,  the  courtiers 
shook  their  heads  in  corroboration. 

"Is  that  so  ?  Well,  well !  Why,  every  boy  and 
gal  in  America  knows  that  tune  well!"  said  Droop. 

He  adjusted  the  cylinder  and  a  small  brass  mega 
phone,  and,  having  wound  the  motor,  pressed  the 
starting-button.  Almost  at  once  a  stentorian  voice 
rang  through  the  apartment: 

"Home,  Sweet  Home — Cornet  Solo — By  Signer 
Paolo  Morituri — Edison  Record." 

The  sudden  voice,  issuing  from  the  dead  revolving 
cylinder,  was  so  unexpected  and  startling  that  several 
of  the  ladies  screamed  and  at  least  one  gentleman 
pensioner  put  his  hand  to  his  sword-hilt.  Elizabeth 
herself  started  bolt  upright  and  turned  pale  under 
her  rouge  as  she  clutched  the  arms  of  her  chair.  Be 
fore  she  could  express  her  feelings  the  cornet  solo 
began,  and  the  entire  audience  gradually  resumed  its 
wonted  serenity  before  the  close  of  the  air. 

309 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"Marvellous  beyond  telling!"  exclaimed  Elizabeth, 
in  delight.  "Why,  this  contrivance  of  yours,  Master 
Droop,  shall  make  your  name  and  fortune  through 
out  our  realm.  Have  you  many  such  ingenious  gen 
tlemen  in  your  kingdom,  Lady  Rebecca?" 

"Oh,  dear  me,  yes!"  said  Rebecca,  somewhat  con 
temptuously.  "Copernicus  Droop  ain't  nobody  in 
America." 

Droop  glanced  reproachfully  at  his  compatriot, 
but  concluded  not  to  give  expression  to  his  feelings. 
Accordingly,  he  very  quickly  substituted  another 
cylinder,  and  turned  again  to  the  Queen. 

"Now,  your  Majesty,"  said  he,  "here's  a  comic 
monologue.  I  tell  you,  verily,  it's  a  side-splitter!" 

"What  may  a  side-splitter  be,  Master  Droop?" 

"Why,  in  sooth,  somethin'  almighty  funny,  you 
know — make  a  feller  laugh,  you  wot." 

Elizabeth  nodded  and,  with  a  smile  of  anticipation, 
which  was  copied  by  all  present,  prepared  to  be 
amused. 

Alas!  The  monologue  was  an  account  of  how  a 
farmer  got  the  best  of  a  bunco  steerer  in  ISTew  York 
City,  and  was  delivered  in  the  esoteric  dialect  of  the 
Bowery.  It  was  not  long  before  willing  smiles  gave 
place  to  long-drawn  faces  of  comic  bewilder 
ment,  and,  although  Copernicus  set  his  best  exam 
ple  by  artificial  grins  and  pretended  inward  laugh 
ter,  he  could  evoke  naught  but  silence  and  bored 
looks. 

"Marry,  sir,"  said  Elizabeth,  when  the  monologue 
310 


THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEVALL'S  SUIT 

was  at  an  end,  "this  needs  be  some  speech  of  an 
American  empire  other  than  that  you  come  from. 
Could  you  make  aught  of  it,  Lady  Rebecca?" 

"Nothin'  on  airth!"  was  the  reply.  "Only  a  word 
now  an'  then  about  a  farmer — an'  somethin'  about 
hayseed." 

"Now,  here's  a  reg'lar  bird!"  said  Droop,  hastily, 
as  he  put  in  a  new  cylinder. 

"Can  you  thus  record  e'en  the  voices  of  fowls?" 
said  the  Queen,  with  renewed  interest. 

Hopeless  of  explaining,  Droop  bowed  and  touched 
the  starting-button.  The  announcement  came  at 
once. 

"Liberty  Bells  March — Edison  Record,"  and  after 
a  few  preliminary  flourishes,  a  large  brass  band  could 
be  heard  in  full  career. 

This  proved  far  more  pleasing  to  the  Queen  and 
her  suite. 

"So  God  mend  us,  a  merry  tune  and  full  of  har 
mony!"  said  the  Queen. 

"But  that  ain't  all,  your  Majesty,"  said  Droop. 
"Here's  a  blank  cylinder,  now."  He  adjusted  it  as 
he  spoke  and  unceremoniously  pushed  the  instrument 
close  to  the  Queen.  "Here,"  he  said,  "jest  you  talk 
anythin'  you  want  to  in  there  and  you'll  see  suthin' 
funny,  I'll  bet  ye !"  He  was  thoroughly  warmed  to 
his  work  now,  and  the  little  court  etiquette  which 
he  had  acquired  dropped  from  him  entirely. 

The  Queen's  eager  interest  had  been  so  aroused 
that  she  was  unconscious  of  his  too  familiar  manner. 

311 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

Leaning  over  the  phonograph  as  Droop  started  the 
motor,  she  looked  about  her  and  said,  with  a  titter: 
"What  shall  we  say?  Weighty  words  should  grace 
so  great  an  occasion,  my  lords." 

"Oh,  say  the  Declaration  of  Independence  or  the 
'Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade'!"  Droop  exclaimed. 
"Any  o'  them  things  in  the  school-books!" 

Elizabeth  saw  that  the  empty  cylinder  was  passing 
uselessly  and  wasted  no  time  in  discussion,  but  began 
to  declaim  some  verses  of  Horace. 

"M — m — m — "  exclaimed  Droop,  doubtfully.  "I 
don't  know  as  this  phonograph  will  work  on  Latin 
an'  Greek!" 

The  Queen  completed  her  quotation  and,  sitting 
back  again  in  her  chair: 

"Now,  Master  Droop,  we  have  done  our  part,"  she 
said. 

Droop  readjusted  the  repeating  diaphragm  and 
started  the  motor  once  more.  There  were  two  or 
three  squeaks  and  then  an  affected  little  chuckle. 

"What  shall  we  say?"  it  began.  "Weighty  words 
should  grace  so  great  an  occasion,  my  lords." 

Elizabeth  laughed  a  little  hysterically  to  hear  her 
unstudied  phrase  repeated,  and  then,  with  a  look  of 
awe,  listened  to  the  repetition  of  the  verses  she  had 
recited. 

"Can  any  voice  be  so  repeated?"  she  asked,  seri 
ously,  when  this  record  was  completed. 

"Anyone  ye  please — any  ye  please!"  said  the  de 
lighted  promoter,  visions  of  uncounted  wealth  danc- 

312 


THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEVALL'S  SUIT 

ing  in  his  head.  "Now,  here's  a  few  words  was 
spoken  on  a  cylinder  jest  two  or  three  weeks  ago 
by  Miss  Wise,"  he  continued,  hunting  through  his 
stock  of  records.  "Ah,  here  it  is!  It's  all  'bout 
Mister  Bacon — I  daresay  you  know  him."  The 
Queen  looked  a  little  stern  at  this.  "Tells  all  'bout 
him,  I  believe.  I  ferget  jest  what  it  said,  but  we 
can  soon  see." 

The  cylinder  was  that  before  which  Phoebe  had 
read  an  extract  from  the  volume  on  Bacon's  sup 
posed  parentage  and  his  writings  while  she  was  at  the 
North  Pole.  Little  did  Droop  conceive  what  a  train 
he  was  unconsciously  lighting  as  he  adjusted  the 
cylinder  in  place.  As  he  said,  he  had  forgotten  the 
exact  purport  of  the  extract  in  question,  but,  even 
had  he  recollected  it,  he  would  probably  have  so  little 
understood  its  terrific  import  that  his  course  would 
have  been  the  same.  Ignorant  of  his  danger,  he 
pushed  the  starting-button  and  looked  pleasantly  at 
the  Queen,  whose  dislike  of  anything  having  to  do 
with  Francis  Bacon  had  already  brought  a  frown  to 
her  face. 

All  too  exactly  the  fateful  mechanism  ground  out 
the  very  words  and  voice  of  Phoebe : 

"It  is  thus  made  clear  from  the  indubitable  evi 
dence  of  the  plays  themselves,  that  Francis  Bacon 
wrote  the  immortal  works  falsely  ascribed  to  William 
Shakespeare,  and  that  the  gigantic  genius  of  this  man 
was  the  result  of  the  possession  of  royal  blood.  In 

313 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

this  unacknowledged  son  of  Elizabeth  Tudor,  Queen 
of  England,  was  made  manifest  to  all  countries  and 
for  all  centuries  the  glorious  powers  inherent  in  the 
regal  blood  of  England." 

As  the  fearful  meaning  of  these  words  was  devel 
oped  by  the  machine,  amazement  gave  place  to  con 
sternation  in  those  present  and  consternation  to  ab 
ject  terror.  Each  fear-palsied  courtier  looked  with 
pale  face  to  right  and  left  as  though  to  seek  escape. 
The  fat  knight,  hitherto  all  complacency,  listening 
to  this  brazen  traducer  of  the  Queen's  virgin  honor, 
seemed  to  shrink  within  himself,  and  his  very  cloth 
ing  hung  loose  upon  him. 

Droop  and  Rebecca,  ignorant  of  the  true  bearing 
of  the  spoken  words,  gazed  in  amazement  from  one 
to  another  until,  glancing  at  the  Queen,  their  eyes 
remained  fixed  and  fascinated. 

The  unthinkable  insult  implied  in  the  words  re 
peated  was  trebled  in  force  by  being  spoken  thus 
publicly  and  in  calm  accents  to  her  very  face.  She 
— the  daughter  of  Henry  the  Eighth;  she — Eliza 
beth  of  England — the  Virgin  Queen — to  be  thus 
coolly  proclaimed  the  mother  of  this  upstart  bar 
rister! 

As  a  cyclone  approaches,  silent  and  terrific,  visible 
only  in  the  swift  swirling  changes  of  a  livid  and 
blackened  sky,  so  the  fatal  passion  in  that  imperial 
bosom  was  known  at  first  only  in  the  gleaming  of  her 
black  eyes  beneath  contorted  brows  and  the  spas- 

314 


THE  FATE  OF  SIR  PERCEV ALL'S  SUIT 

modic  changes  that  swept  over  the  pale  red-painted 
face. 

The  danger  thus  portended  was  clear  even  to  the 
bewildered  Droop,  and,  before  the  instrument  had 
said  its  say,  he  began  to  slip  very  quietly  toward  the 
door. 

As  the  speech  ended,  Elizabeth  emitted  a  growl 
that  grew  into  a  shriek  of  fury,  and,  with  her  hair 
actually  rising  on  her  head,  she  threw  herself  bodily 
upon  the  offending  phonograph. 

In  her  two  hands  she  raised  the  instrument  above 
her,  and  with  a  maniac's  force  hurled  it  full  at  the 
head  of  Copernicus  Droop. 

Instinctively  he  dodged,  and  the  mass  of  wood  and 
steel  crashed  against  the  door  of  the  chamber,  burst 
ing  it  open  and  causing  the  two  guards  without  to 
fall  back. 

Droop  saw  his  chance  and  took  it.  Turning,  with 
a  yell  he  dashed  past  the  guards  and  across  the  ante 
chamber  to  the  main  entrance-hall.  The  Queen, 
choked  with  passion,  could  only  gasp  and  point  her 
hand  frantically  after  the  fleeing  man,  but  at  once 
her  gentlemen,  drawing  their  swords,  rushed  in  a 
body  from  the  room  with  cries  of  "Treason — treason! 
Stop  him!  Catch  him!" 

Down  the  main  hallway  and  out  into  the  silent 
court-yard  Droop  fled  on  the  wings  of  fear,  pursued 
by  a  shouting  throng,  growing  every  moment  larger. 

As  he  emerged  into  the  yard  a  sentry  tried  to 
stop  him,  but,  with  a  single  side  spring,  the  Yankee 

315 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

eluded  this  danger  and  flung  himself  upon  his  bicycle, 
which  he  found  leaning  against  the  palace  wall. 

"Close  the  gates!  Trap  him!"  was  the  cry,  and 
the  ponderous  iron  gates  swung  together  with  a  clang. 
But  just  one  second  before  they  closed,  the  narrow 
bicycle,  with  its  terror-stricken  burden,  slipped 
through  into  the  street  beyond  and  turned  sharply 
to  the  west,  gaining  speed  every  instant.  Droop  had 
escaped  for  the  moment,  and  now  bent  every  effort 
upon  reaching  the  Pan^chronicon  in  safety. 

Then,  as  the  tumult  of  futile  chase  faded  into  si 
lence  behind  the  straining  fugitive,  there  might  have 
been  seen  whirling  through  the  ancient  streets  of 
London  a  weird  and  wondrous  vision. 

Perched  on  a  whirl  of  spokes  gleaming  in  the  moon 
light,  a  lean  black  figure  in  rumpled  hose,  with  flying 
cloak,  slipped  ghostlike  through  the  narrow  streets 
at  incredible  speed.  Many  a  footpad  or  belated 
townsman,  warned  by  the  mystic  tinkle  of  a  spectral 
bell,  had  turned  with  a  start,  to  faint  or  run  at  sight 
of  this  uncanny  traveller. 

His  hat  was  gone  and  his  close-cropped  head  bent 
low  over  the  handle-bars.  The  skin-tight  stockings 
had  split  from  thigh  to  heel,  mud  flew  from  the  tires, 
beplastering  the  luckless  figure  from  nape  to  waist, 
and  still,  without  pause,  he  pushed  onward,  ever  on 
ward,  for  London  Bridge,  for  Southwark,  and  for 
safety.  The  way  was  tortuous,  dark  and  unfamiliar, 
but  it  was  for  life  or  death,  and  Copernicus  Droop 
was  game. 

316 


CHAPTER   XV 

HOW    EEBECCA    KETUKNED    TO    NEWINGTON 

Within  the  palace  all  was  confusion  and  dismay. 
Only  a  very  few  knew  the  cause  of  this  riot  which 
had  burst  so  suddenly  upon  the  wonted  peace  of  the 
place,  and  those  few  never  in  all  their  lives  gave  ut 
terance  to  what  they  had  learned. 

Within  the  presence  chamber  Elizabeth  lay  on  the 
floor  in  a  swoon,  surrounded  by  her  women  only. 
Among  these  was  Rebecca,  whose  one  thought  was 
now  to  devise  some  plan  for  overtaking  Droop.  From 
the  window  she  had  witnessed  his  flight,  and  she  had 
guessed  his  destination.  She  felt  sure  that  if  Droop 
reached  the  Panchronicon  alone,  he  would  depart 
alone,  and  then  what  was  to  become  of  Phoebe  and 
herself? 

Just  as  the  Queen's  eyes  were  opening  and  her 
face  began  to  show  a  return  of  her  passion  with  recol 
lection  of  its  cause,  Rebecca  had  an  inspiration,  and 
with  the  promptitude  of  a  desperate  resolution,  she 
acted  upon  it. 

"Look  a-here,  your  Majesty!"  she  said,  vigorously, 
"let  me  speak  alone  with  you  a  minute  and  I'll  save 
you  a  lot  of  trouble.  I  know  where  that  man  keeps 
more  of  them  machines." 

317 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

This  was  a  new  idea  to  Elizabeth,  who  had  de 
stroyed,  as  she  supposed,  the  only  existing  specimen 
of  the  malignant  instrument. 

With  a  gesture  she  sent  her  attendants  to  the  op 
posite  end  of  the  room. 

"Now  speak,  woman!  What  would  you  counsel?" 
she  said. 

"Why,  this,"  said  Rebecca,  hurriedly.  "You  don't 
want  any  more  o'  them  things  talkin'  all  over  Lon 
don,  I'm  sure." 

A  groan  that  was  half  a  growl  broke  from  the 
sorely  tried  sovereign. 

"Of  course  you  don't.  Well — I  told  you  him  and 
I  come  from  America  together.  I  know  where  he 
keeps  all  his  phonograph  things,  and  I  know  how  to 
get  there.  But  you  must  be  quick  or  else  he'll  get 
there  fust  and  take  'em  away." 

"You  speak  truly,  Lady  Rebecca,"  said  the  Queen. 
"How  would  you  go — by  what  conveyance?  Will 
you  have  horses — men-at-arms?" 

tcNo,  indeed!"  was  the  reply.  "Jest  let  me  hev  a 
swift  boat,  with  plenty  o'  men  to  row  it,  so  's  to  go 
real  fast.  Then  I'll  want  a  carryall  or  a  buggy  in 
Southwark " 

"A  carryall — a  buggy!"  Elizabeth  broke  in. 
"What  may  these  be?" 

"Oh,  any  kind  of  a  carriage,  you  know,  'cause  I'll 
hev  to  ride  some  distance  into  the  country." 

"But  why  such  haste?"  asked  the  Queen.  "Had 
this  American  a  horse?" 

318 


HOW  REBECCA  RETURNED  TO  NEWINGTON 

"He  had  a  bicycle  an'  that's  wuss,"  said  Rebecca. 
"But  ef  I  can  start  right  away  and  take  a  short  cut 
by  the  river  while  he  finds  his  way  through  all  them 
dirty,  dark  streets,  I'll  get  there  fust  an'  get  the  rest 
of  his  phonographs." 

"Your  wit  is  nimble  and  methinks  most  sound," 
said  the  Queen,  decisively.  Then,  turning  to  the 
group  of  ladies,  she  continued: 

"Send  us  our  chamberlain,  my  Lady  Temple,  and 
delay  not,  we  charge  you!" 

In  ten  minutes  Rebecca  found  herself  once  more 
upon  the  dark,  still  river,  watching  the  slippery 
writhings  of  the  moonbeams'  path.  She  was  alone, 
save  for  the  ten  stalwart  rowers  and  two  officers ;  but 
in  one  hand  was  her  faithful  umbrella,  while  in  the 
other  she  felt  the  welcome  weight  of  her  precious 
satchel. 

The  barge  cut  its  way  swiftly  up  the  river  in 
silence  save  for  the  occasional  exclamations  of  the 
officers  urging  the  willing  oarsmen  to  their  utmost 
speed. 

Far  ahead  to  the  right  the  huge  bulk  of  the  Tower 
of  London  loomed  in  clumsy  power  against  the  deep 
dark  blue  of  the  moonlit  sky.  Rebecca  knew  that 
London  Bridge  lay  not  far  beyond  that  landmark, 
although  it  was  as  yet  invisible.  For  London  Bridge 
she  was  bound,  and  it  seemed  to  her  impatience  that 
the  lumbering  vessel  would  never  reach  that  goal. 

She  stood  up  and  strained  her  eyes  through  the 
darkness,  trying  to  see  the  laboring  forms  of  the 

319 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

rowers  in  the  shadow  of  the  boat's  side,  but  only  the 
creak  of  the  thole-pins  and  the  steady  recurrent 
splash  and  tinkle  from  the  dripping  oars  told  of  their 
labor. 

"Air  ye  goin'  as  fast  as  ye  can?"  she  called.  "Mr. 
Droop'll  get  there  fust  ef  ye  ain't  real  spry." 

"If  spry  be  active,  mistress,"  said  a  voice  from 
the  darkness  aft,  "then  should  you  find  naught  here 
amiss.  Right  lusty  workers,  these,  I  promise  you! 
Roundly,  men,  and  a  shilling  each  if  we  do  win  the 
race!" 

"Ay — ay,  sir!"  came  the  willing  response,  and  Re 
becca,  satisfied  that  they  could  do  no  more,  seated 
herself  again,  to  wait  as  best  she  might. 

At  length,  to  her  great  delight,  there  arose  from 
the  darkness  ahead  an  uneven  line  of  denser  black, 
and  at  a  warning  from  one  of  the  officers  the  boat 
proceeded  more  cautiously.  Rebecca's  heart  beat 
high  as  they  passed  under  one  of  the  low  stone  arches 
of  the  famous  bridge  and  their  strokes  resounded  in 
ringing  echoes  from  every  side. 

Having  passed  to  the  upper  side  of  the  bridge,  the 
boat  was  headed  for  the  south  shore,  and  in  a  few 
moments  Rebecca  saw  that  they  had  reached  the  side 
of  a  wooden  wharf  which  stood  a  little  higher  than 
their  deck.  One  of  the  officers  leaped  ashore  with 
the  end  of  a  rope  in  his  hand,  and  quickly  secured 
the  vessel.  As  he  did  so  a  faint  light  was  seen  pro 
ceeding  toward  them,  and  they  heard  the  steps  of  a 
half  dozen  men  advancing  on  the  sounding  planks. 

320 


HOW  REBECCA  RETURNED  TO  NEWINGTON 

It  was  the  watch,  and  the  light  shone  from  a  prim 
itive  lantern  with  sides  of  horn  scraped  thin. 

"Who  goes  there?"  cried  a  gruff  voice. 

"The  Queen's  barge — in  the  service  of  her  Maj 
esty,"  was  the  reply. 

The  watchman  who  carried  the  lantern  satisfied 
himself  that  this  account  was  correct,  and  then  asked 
if  he  could  be  of  service. 

"Tell  me,  fellow,"  said  he  who  had  landed,  "hast 
seen  one  pass  the  bridge  to-night  astride  of  two 
wheels,  one  before  the  other,  riding  post-haste?" 

There  was  a  long  pause  as  the  watchman  sought 
to  comprehend  this  extraordinary  question. 

"Come — come!"  cried  the  officer,  who  had  re 
mained  on  the  boat.  "Canst  not  say  yes  or  no,  man?" 

"Ay,  can  I,  master!"  was  the  reply.  "But  you  had 
as  well  ask  had  I  seen  a  witch  riding  across  the  moon 
on  a  broomstick.  We  have  no  been  asleep  to  dream 
of  flying  wheels." 

"Well — well!"  said  he  who  had  landed.  "Go  you 
now  straight  and  stand  at  the  bridge  head.  We  shall 
follow  anon." 

The  watch  moved  slowly  away  and  Rebecca  was 
helped  ashore  by  the  last  speaker. 

"Our  speed  hath  brought  us  hither  in  advance, 
my  lady,"  he  said.  "Now  shall  we  doubtless  come 
in  before  the  fugitive." 

"Well,  I  hope  so!"  said  Rebecca.  Then,  with  a 
smothered  cry:  "Oh,  Land  o'  Goshen!  I've  dropped 
my  umbrella!" 

321 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

They  stooped  together  and  groped  about  on  the 
wharf  in  silence  for  a  few  moments.  The  landing 
was  encumbered  with  lumber  and  stones  for  build 
ing,  and,  as  the  moon  was  just  then  covered  by  a 
thick  cloud,  the  search  was  difficult. 

"I  declare,  ain't  this  provokin'!"  Kebecca  cried, 
at  length. 

"These  beams  and  blocks  impede  us,"  said  the  offi 
cer.  "We  must  have  light,  perforce.  Ho  there! 
The  watch,  ho!  Bring  your  Ian  thorn!" 

"Why,  'tain't  worth  while  to  trouble  the  watch 
man,"  said  Eebecca.  "I'll  jest  strike  a  light  my 
self." 

She  fumbled  in  her  satchel  and  found  a  card  of 
old-fashioned  silent  country  matches,  well  tipped 
with  odorous  sulphur.  The  officer  at  her  side  saw 
nothing  of  her  movements,  and  his  first  knowledge 
of  her  intention  was  the  sudden  and  mysterious  ap 
pearance  of  a  bluish  flame  close  beside  him  and  the 
tingle  of  burning  brimstone  in  his  nostrils. 

With  a  wild  yell,  he  leaped  into  the  air  and  then, 
half  crazed  by  fear,  tumbled  into  the  boat  and  cut 
the  mooring-rope  with  his  sword. 

"Cast  off — cast  off!"  he  screamed.  "Give  way, 
lads,  in  God's  name !  A  witch — a  witch!  Cast  off!" 

A  gentle  breeze  off  the  shore  carried  the  sulphur 
ous  fumes  directly  over  the  boat,  and  these,  together 
with  their  officer's  terror-stricken  tones  and  the  sight 
of  that  uncanny,  sourceless  light,  struck  the  crew 
with  panic.  Fiercely  and  in  sad  confusion  did  they 

322 


HOW  REBECCA  RETURNED  TO  NEWINGTON 

push  and  pull  with  boat-hook  and  oar  to  escape  from 
that  unhallowed  vicinity,  and,  even  after  they  were 
well  out  in  the  stream,  it  was  with  the  frenzy  of 
superstitious  horror  that  they  bent  their  stout  backs 
to  their  oars  and  glided  swiftly  down  stream  toward 
Greenwich. 

As  for  Rebecca — comprehending  nothing  of  the 
cause  of  this  commotion  at  first — she  stood  with  open 
mouth,  immovable  as  a  statue,  watching  the  depart 
ure  of  her  escort  until  the  flame  reached  her  fingers. 
Then,  with  a  little  shriek  of  pain,  she  flicked  the 
burnt  wood  into  the  river. 

"Well,  if  I  ever!"  she  exclaimed.  "I'm  blest  ef 
I  don't  b'lieve  those  ninnies  was  scared  at  a  match!" 

Shaking  her  head,  she  broke  a  second  match  from 
her  card,  struck  it,  and  when  it  burned  clear,  stooped 
to  seek  her  umbrella.  It  was  lying  between  two 
beams  almost  at  her  feet,  and  she  grasped  it  thank 
fully  just  as  her  light  was  blown  out  by  the  breeze. 

Then,  with  groping  feet,  she  made  her  way  care 
fully  toward  the  inshore  end  of  the  wharf,  and  soon 
found  herself  in  the  streets  of  Southwark,  between 
London  Bridge  and  the  pillory.  From  this  point  she 
knew  her  way  to  the  grove  where  the  Panchronicon 
had  landed,  and  thither  she  now  turned  a  resolute 
face,  walking  as  swiftly  as  she  dared  by  the  light  of 
the  now  unobscured  moon. 

"If  Copernicus  Droop  ketches  up  with  me,"  she 
muttered,  "I'll  make  him  stop  ef  I  hev  to  poke  my 
umbrella  in  his  spokes." 

323 


CHAPTER   XVI 

HOW   SIB   GUY    KEPT   HIS    TEYST 

For  one  hour  before  sunset  of  that  same  day 
Phoebe  had  been  patiently  waiting  alone  behind  the 
east  wall  of  the  inn  garden.  As  she  had  expected, 
her  step-mother  had  accompanied  her  father  to  Lon 
don  that  afternoon,  and  she  found  herself  free  for 
the  time  of  their  watchfulness.  She  did  not  know 
that  this  apparent  carelessness  was  based  upon  knowl 
edge  of  another  surveillance  more  strict  and  secret, 
and  therefore  more  effective  than  their  own. 

The  shadow  of  the  wall  within  which  she  was 
standing  lengthened  more  and  more  rapidly,  until, 
as  the  sun  touched  the  western  horizon,  the  whole 
countryside  to  the  east  was  obscured. 

Phrebe  moved  out  into  the  middle  of  the  road 
which  ran  parallel  to  the  garden  wall  and  looked 
longingly  toward  the  north.  A  few  rods  away,  the 
road  curved  to  the  right  between  apple-trees  whose 
blossoms  gleamed  more  pink  with  the  touch  of  the 
setting  sun. 

"Nothing — no  one  yet!"  she  murmured.  "Oh, 
Guy,  if  not  for  love,  could  you  not  haste  for  life!" 

As  though  in  answer  to  her  exclamation,  there 
came  to  her  ears  a  faint  tapping  of  horses'  hoofs,  and 

324 


HOW  SIR  GUY  KEPT  HIS  TRYST 

a  few  moments  later  three  horsemen  turned  the  cor 
ner  and  bore  down  upon  her. 

One  glance  was  enough  to  show  her  that  Guy  was 
not  one  of  the  group,  and  Phoebe  leaped  back  into 
the  shadow  of  the  wall.  She  felt  that  she  must  not 
be  seen  watching  here  alone  by  anyone.  As  she  stood 
beneath  the  fringe  of  trees  that  stood  outside  of  the 
garden  wall,  she  looked  about  for  means  of  better 
concealment,  and  quickly  noticed  a  narrow  slit  in  the 
high  brick  enclosure,  just  wide  enough  for  a  man  to 
enter.  It  had  been  barred  with  iron,  but  two  of  the 
bars  had  fallen  from  their  sockets,  leaving  an  aper 
ture  which  looked  large  enough  to  admit  a  slender 
girl. 

Phosbe  felt  instinctively  that  the  approaching 
riders  were  unfriendly  in  their  purpose  and,  without 
pausing  to  weigh  reasons,  she  quickly  scrambled 
through  this  accidental  passage,  not  without  tearing 
her  dress. 

She  found  herself  within  the  garden  and  not  far 
from  the  very  seat  where  she  had  hidden  from  Will 
Shakespeare.  How  different  her  situation  now,  she 
thought.  Not  diffidence,  but  fear,  was  now  her 
motive — fear  for  the  man  she  loved  and  whom  she 
alone  could  save. 

While  she  listened  there,  half  choked  by  the  beat 
ing  of  her  own  heart,  she  heard  the  three  cavaliers 
beyond  the  wall.  Their  horses  were  walking  now, 
and  the  three  conversed  together  in  easily  audible 
tones. 

325 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

"My  life  on  it,  Will,"  said  one,  "  'twas  here  the 
wench  took  cover!" 

"Thine  eyes  are  dusty,  Jack,"  replied  a  deep  voice. 
"  'Twas  farther  on,  was  it  not,  Harry?" 

The  horses  stopped. 

"Ay — you  are  i'  the  right,  Will,"  was  the  answer. 
"By  the  same  token,  how  could  the  lass  be  here  and 
we  not  see  her?  There's  naught  to  hide  a  cat  withal." 

"Nay — nay!"  said  Will.  "Count  upon  it,  Jack, 
the  maid  fled  beyond  the  turn  yonder.  Come  on, 
lads!" 

"I'll  not  stir  hence !"  said  Jack,  obstinately.  "Who 
finds  the  girl,  catches  the  traitor,  too.  Go  you  two 
farther,  an  ye  will.  Jack  Bartley  seeks  here." 

"Let  it  be  e'en  so,  Will,"  said  Harry,  the  third 
speaker.  "Dismount  we  here,  you  and  me.  Jack 
shall  tie  the  nags  to  yon  tree  and  seek  where  he  will. 
Do  you  and  I  creep  onward  afoot.  So  shall  the  maid, 
hearing  no  footfall,  be  caught  unaware." 

"Have  it  so!"  said  Will. 

Phoebe  heard  the  three  dismount  and,  trembling 
with  apprehension,  listened  anxiously  for  knowledge 
of  what  she  dared  not  seek  to  see. 

She  heard  the  slow  walk  of  the  three  horses,  short 
ly  interrupted,  and  she  knew  that  they  were  being 
tethered.  Then  there  was  a  murmur  of  voices  and 
silence. 

This  was  the  most  agonizing  moment  of  that  event 
ful  night  for  Phoebe.  Strain  her  ears  as  she  might, 
naught  could  she  hear  but  the  shake  of  a  bridle,  the 

326 


HOW  SIR  GUY  KEPT  HIS  TRYST 

stamp  of  an  occasional  hoof,  and  the  cropping  of 
grass.  The  next  few  seconds  seemed  an  hour  of 
miserable  uncertainty  and  suspense.  She  knew  now 
that  she  was  watched,  that  perhaps  her  plans  were 
fully  known,  and  all  hope  for  her  lover  seemed  past. 
She  had  called  him  hither  and  he  would  walk  alone 
and  unaided  into  the  arms  of  these  three  merce 
naries. 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  looked  desperately 
about  her  as  though  for  inspiration.  To  the  right 
an  open  sward  led  the  eye  to  the  out-buildings  sur 
rounding  the  inn.  To  the  left  a  dense  thicket  of 
trees  and  bushes  shut  in  the  view. 

Suddenly  she  started  violently.  Her  ear  had 
caught  the  snapping  of  a  twig  close  at  hand,  beyond 
the  concealing  wall.  At  the  next  moment  she  saw 
a  stealthy  hand  slip  past  the  opening  by  which  she 
had  entered,  and  the  top  of  a  man's  hat  appeared. 

Like  a  rabbit  that  runs  to  cover,  she  turned  noise 
lessly  and  dashed  into  the  friendly  thicket.  Here 
she  stopped  with  her  hand  on  her  heart  and  glanced 
wildly  about  her.  Well  she  knew  that  her  conceal 
ment  here  could  be  but  momentary.  Where  next 
could  she  find  shelter? 

A  heap  of  refuse,  stones  and  dirt,  leaves  and  sticks, 
was  heaped  against  that  portion  of  the  wall,  and  at 
sight  of  this  a  desperate  plan  crossed  her  mind. 

"'Tis  that  or  nothing!"  she  whispered,  and,  still 
under  cover  of  the  shrubbery,  she  hurried  toward  the 
rubbish  heap. 

327 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

In  the  meantime,  Jack,  whose  quick  eye  had  de 
scried  that  ancient  opening  in  the  wall,  perceived  by 
neither  of  his  companions,  was  standing  just  within 
the  wall  gazing  about  for  some  clue  to  his  prey's 
location. 

Phoebe  leaped  upon  the  refuse  heap  and  scrambled 
to  the  top.  To  her  dismay,  there  was  a  great  crash 
ing  of  dead  wood  as  she  sank  nearly  to  her  knees  in 
the  accumulated  rubbish. 

Jack  uttered  a  loud  exclamation  of  triumph  and 
leaped  toward  the  thicket.  Poor  Phoebe  heard  his 
cry,  and  for  an  instant  all  seemed  hopeless.  But 
hers  was  a  brave  young  soul,  and,  far  from  fainting 
in  her  despair,  a  new  vigor  possessed  her. 

Grasping  the  limb  of  a  tree  beside  her,  she  drew 
herself  up  until,  with  one  foot  she  found  a  firm  rest 
on  the  top  of  the  wall.  Then,  forgetting  her  tender 
hands  and  limbs,  straining,  gripping,  and  scrambling, 
she  knew  not  how,  she  flung  herself  over  the  wall 
and  fell  in  a  bruised  and  ragged  heap  on  the  grass 
beyond. 

When  her  pursuer  reached  the  thicket,  he  was  con 
founded  to  find  no  one  in  sight. 

Phoebe  lay  for  one  moment  faint  and  relaxed  upon 
the  ground.  The  landscape  turned  to  swimming  sil 
houettes  before  her  eyes,  and  all  sounds  were  mo 
mentarily  stilled.  Then  life  came  surging  back  in 
a  welcome  tide  and  she  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet. 
She  walked  as  quickly  as  she  could  to  where  the  three 
horses  stood  loosely  tied  by  their  bridles  to  a  tree. 

328 


HOW  SIR  GUY  KEPT  HIS  TRYST 

At  any  moment  the  man  she  feared  might  appear 
again  at  the  opening  in  the  wall. 

She  untied  all  three  horses  and,  choosing  a  power 
ful  gray  for  her  own,  she  slipped  his  bridle  over  her 
arm  so  as  to  leave  both  hands  free.  Then,  bringing 
together  the  bridles  of  the  other  two,  she  tied  them 
together  in  a  double  knot,  then  doubled  that,  and 
struck  the  two  animals  sharply  with  the  bridle  of 
the  gray.  Naturally  they  started  off  in  different  di 
rections,  and,  pulling  at  their  bridles,  dragged  them 
into  harder  knots  than  her  weak  fingers  could  have 
tied. 

She  laughed  in  the  triumph  of  her  ingenuity  and 
scrambled  with  foot  and  knee  and  hand  into  place 
astride  of  the  remaining  steed.  Thus  in  the  seclu 
sion  of  the  pasture  had  she  often  ridden  her  mare 
Nancy  home  to  the  barn. 

There  was  a  shout  of  anger  and  amazement  from 
the  road,  and  she  saw  the  two  men  who  had  elected 
to  walk  farther  on  running  toward  her. 

Turning  her  steed,  she  slapped  his  neck  with  the 
bridle  and  chopped  at  his  flanks  with  the  stirrups 
as  best  she  could.  The  horse  broke  into  an  easy 
canter,  and  for  the  moment  she  was  free. 

Unfortunately,  Phoebe  found  herself  virtually 
without  means  for  urging  her  steed  to  his  best  pace. 
Accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  efficient  severity  of  a 
man's  spurred  heel,  he  paid  little  attention  to  her 
gentle,  though  urgent,  voice,  and  even  the  stirrups 
were  hardly  available  substitutes  for  spurs,  since  her 

329 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

feet  could  not  reach  them  and  she  could  only  kick 
them  flapping  back  against  the  horse's  sides. 

Her  one  chance  was  that  she  might  meet  Sir  Guy 
in  time,  and  she  could  only  pray  that  the  knots  in 
the  bridles  of  the  remaining  horses  would  long  defy 
every  effort  to  release  them.  As  she  turned  the 
curve  among  the  apple-trees,  she  looked  back  and 
saw  that  the  horses  had  been  caught  and  that  all 
three  men  were  frantically  tugging  and  picking  with 
fingers  and  teeth  at  those  obstinate  knots. 

Phrebe  drew  up  for  a  moment  a  few  yards  beyond 
the  curve  and  broke  off  a  long,  slender  switch  from 
an  overhanging  bough.  Then,  urging  the  horse  for 
ward  again,  she  picked  off  the  small  branches  until 
at  length  she  had  produced  a  smooth,  pliant  switch, 
far  more  effective  than  bridle  or  stirrup.  By  the 
help  of  this  new  whip,  she  made  a  little  better  speed, 
but  well  she  knew  that  her  capture  was  only  a  matter 
of  time  unless  she  could  find  her  lover. 

Great  was  her  joy,  therefore,  when  she  turned  the 
next  curve  in  the  road;  for,  straight  ahead,  not  twen 
ty  rods  away,  she  saw  Sir  Guy  approaching  at  a 
canter,  leading  a  second  horse. 

By  this  time  the  twilight  was  deepening,  and  the 
young  cavalier  gazed  in  astonishment  upon  the  ragged 
girl  riding  toward  him  astride,  making  silent  gest 
ures  of  welcome  and  warning.  Not  until  he  was 
within  twenty  yards  of  her  did  Sir  Guy  recognize  his 
sweetheart. 

"Mary!"  he  cried. 

330 


HOW  SIR  GUY  KEPT  HIS  TRYST 

Together  they  reined  in  their  horses,  and  instantly 
Phoebe  slipped  to  the  ground. 

"Quick,  Guy — quick!"  she  exclaimed.  "Help  me 
to  mount  yon  saddle.  Come — come!" 

Leaping  at  once  from  his  horse,  Sir  Guy  lifted 
Phoebe  to  the  back  of  the  beast  he  had  been  leading, 
which  was  provided  with  a  side-saddle,  the  stirrup 
of  which  carried  a  spur.  Stopping  only  to  kiss  her 
hand,  he  mounted  his  own  steed,  turned  about,  and 
followed  Phoebe,  who  had  already  set  off  at  her  best 
speed.  Even  as  they  started,  they  heard  a  shout 
behind  them,  and  Phoebe  knew  that  the  pursuit  had 
begun  in  earnest. 

"What  is  it — who  are  they  whom  you  flee?"  asked 
the  young  knight,  as  he  came  to  Phoebe's  side. 

"Men  seeking  thee,  Guy — for  reward!  There  is 
a  price  on  thy  head,  dear.  For  high  treason!  Oh, 
may  God  aid  us  this  night!" 

"High  treason!"  he  exclaimed.  Then,  after  a 
pause,  he  continued,  in  a  stern  voice: 

"How  many  be  they?" 

"Two." 

Sir  Guy  laughed  in  evident  relief. 

"But  two !  By  my  troth,  why  should  we  fear  them, 
sweetheart  ?"  he  said.  "An  I  be  not  a  match  for  four 
of  these  scurvy  rascals,  call  me  not  knight!" 

"Alas — alas!"  cried  Phoebe,  in  alarm,  as  she  saw 
Sir  Guy  slacken  his  pace.  "Stay  not  to  fight,  Guy. 
Urge  on — urge  on!  The  whole  countryside  is 
awake.  How,  then,  canst  thou  better  thee  by 

331 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

fighting  two?  Nay,  on — on !"  and  she  spurred  again, 
beckoning  him  after  with  an  imperious  hand. 

He  yielded  to  her  reasoning,  and  soon  reached  her 
side  again. 

"We  must  to  London  Bridge,  Guy,"  Phoebe  said. 
"Know  you  a  way  back  thither?" 

"Wherefore  to  London,  sweet?"  asked  Guy. 
"Were  we  not  safer  far  afield?  Why  seek  the  shad 
ow  of  the  Tower?" 

"One  way  is  left  thee,"  said  she,  with  intense  ear 
nestness.  "A  way  that  is  known  to  me  alone.  There 
by  only  canst  thou  escape.  Oh,  trust  me — trust  me, 
dear  heart!  Only  I  can  guide  thee  to  safety  and 
to  freedom!" 

"On,  my  Mary !"  he  cried,  gayly.  "Lead  on !  Thou 
art  my  star!" 

For  the  moment  both  forgot  the  danger  behind 
them.  The  intoxication  of  an  ideal  and  self-forget 
ting  trust — a  merger  of  all  else  in  tenderness — flood 
ed  their  souls  and  passed  back  and  forth  between 
them  in  their  mutual  glances. 

Then  came  that  pursuing  shout  again,  much  nearer 
than  before,  and  with  a  shock  ths  two  lovers  re 
membered  their  true  plight. 

Sir  Guy  reined  in  his  steed. 

"Halt — halt,  Mary!"  he  commanded.  "We  must 
conceal  us  here  in  this  dell  till  that  these  fellows 
pass  us.  Then  back  to  London  by  the  way  we  came. 
There  is  no  other  road." 

Obedient  now  in  her  turn,  Phrebe  drew  rein  and 
332 


HOW  SIR  GUY  KEPT  HIS  TRYST 

followed  her  lover  up  the  bed  of  a  small  stream 
which  crossed  the  road  at  this  point.  Behind  a  cur 
tain  of  trees  they  waited,  and  ere  long  saw  their  two 
pursuers  dart  past  them  and  disappear  in  a  cloud  of 
dust  down  the  road. 

"They  will  stop  at  the  next  dwelling  to  ask  news 
of  us,  and  thus  learn  of  our  evasion,"  said  Guy.  "The 
chase  has  but  begun.  Come,  sweet,  let  us  hasten 
southward  again." 

Darkness  had  now  begun  to  fall  in  earnest,  and 
as  the  two  fugitives  passed  the  Peacock  Inn,  no  one 
saw  them. 

They  were  soon  near  enough  to  the  city  gate  to 
find  many  houses  on  either  hand,  and  Sir  Guy  deemed 
it  wiser  to  move  at  a  reasonable  pace,  for  fear  of  at 
tracting  suspicion  in  a  neighborhood  already  aroused 
by  rumors  of  the  man-hunt  which  had  begun.  They 
could  count  upon  the  obscurity  to  conceal  their  iden 
tity. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far  beyond  the  inn  when 
they  met  a  party  of  travellers  on  horseback,  one  of 
whom  uttered  a  pleasant  "Good-even!" 

"Good-even!"  said  Phrebe,  thinking  only  of  due 
courtesy. 

"What  the  good  jere!"  cried  a  voice  from  the  rear 
of  the  group.  "What  dost  thou  here,  Poll?" 

"My  father!"  exclaimed  Phoebe,  in  terror. 

"Hush!"  whispered  Sir  Guy,  putting  his  hand  upon 
her  bridle.  "Ride  forward  at  an  easy  gait  until  I 
give  example  of  haste." 

333 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

They  trotted  quietly  past  the  greater  number  of 
the  group  until  a  dark  figure  approached  and  a  voice 
in  the  gloom  said,  severely: 

"What  dost  thou  here?  "Who  rides  with  thee, 
lass?" 

Sir  Guy  now  leaned  forward  and  spurred  his  horse, 
leaping  away  into  the  darkness  without  a  word.  In 
equal  silence  Phoebe  followed  his  example  and  gal 
loped  headlong  close  behind  her  lover. 

"Help,  ho !"  yelled  old  Sir  Isaac.  "  'Tis  the  traitor 
Fenton,  with  my  daughter !  After  them — stop  them 
— a  Burton — a  Burton!"  and,  mad  with  excitement, 
the  angry  father  set  off  in  hot  pursuit.  With  one 
accord  the  others  wheeled  about  and  joined  in  the 
chase,  uttering  cries  and  imprecations  that  rang 
through  the  country  for  a  mile  around. 

"ISTow  have  we  need  of  speed!"  said  Sir  Guy,  as 
they  galloped  together  toward  London,  whose  walls 
were  now  visible  in  the  distance.  "Soon  will  the 
whole  country  join  the  hue-and-cry.  The  watch  will 
meet  us  at  the  gate." 

"  'Twere  better,  were  it  not,"  Phoebe  suggested, 
"that  we  turn  to  the  left  and  make  a  circuit  into  the 
Aldersgate?" 

"Good  wit,  my  lady!"  cried  Guy,  whose  excitement 
had  taken  on  the  form  of  an  exalted  gayety.  "Who 
rides  with  thee  rides  safe,  my  love — e'en  as  Theseus 
of  old  did  ride,  scathless  'neath  the  spell  of  protect 
ing  Pallas!" 

"Stuff!"  said  Phoebe,  spurring  again,  with  a  smile. 
334 


HOW  SIR  GUY  KEPT  HIS  TRYST 

Guy  led  the  way  at  once  across  country  to  the  east 
ward,  the  soft  English  turf  so  deadening  their  hoof- 
beats  that  those  behind  them  had  no  clue  to  their 
change  of  route. 

When  the  pursuing  party  reached  the  Bishopsgate, 
they  met  the  watch  and  learned  that  no  one  had 
passed  since  the  hue-and-cry  was  heard. 

"Here  divide  we,  then,"  cried  stout  Sir  Isaac 
Burton.  "Let  eight  follow  them  around  the  wall, 
while  I  with  other  six  ride  on,  that,  if  haply  they 
have  entered  London  by  the  Aldersgate,  we  may 
meet  them  within  the  city." 

The  suggestion  was  adopted,  and,  all  unconscious 
of  their  peril,  the  lovers  were  rapidly  hemmed  in 
between  two  bands  of  pursuers.  Sir  Guy  and  Phoebe 
reached  the  Aldersgate  unmolested  and  were  allowed 
to  pass  in  without  protest,  as  the  hue-and-cry  had 
not  yet  reached  so  far.  They  ambled  quietly  past 
the  watch,  arousing  no  suspicion,  but  no  sooner  had 
they  turned  the  first  corner  than  once  more  they 
urged  their  tired  horses  to  greater  exertion. 

"Choose  we  the  side  streets,"  said  Guy.  "Who 
knows  what  watch  hath  been  set  on  Gracechurch 
Street.  'Tis  for  London  Bridge  we  are  bound,  is't 
not?" 

"Yes,"  said  Phrebe.  "I  pray  no  prying  watch  de 
tain  us  ere  we  pass  that  way!" 

Picking  their  way  through  the  dark  and  narrow 
streets  at  a  pace  necessarily  much  reduced,  they  slow 
ly  approached  their  goal,  until  at  length,  on  emerg- 

335 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

ing  into  New  Fish  Street,  they  discerned  the  tower 
ing  walls  of  London  Bridge. 

Here  they  reined  in  suddenly  with  one  accord,  for, 
plainly  visible  in  the  moonlight,  a  group  of  horse 
men  was  gathered  and  there  was  borne  to  their  ears 
the  sturdy  voice  of  Sir  Isaac. 

"Hallo!"  he  cried.  "There  be  riders  in  New  Fish 
Street.  See  where  they  lurk  in  the  shadow !  What 
ho,  there!  Give  a  name!  Stand  forth  there!" 

Sir  Guy  drew  his  sword. 

"  "Tis  time  for  steel  to  answer!"  he  laughed. 

"Nay — nay!  Wait — wait!"  said  Phoebe,  earnest 
ly.  "There  must  be  other  issue  than  in  blood!" 

Two  or  three  horsemen  now  detached  themselves 
from  the  group  near  the  bridge  and  cantered  up  New 
Fish  Street.  Sir  Isaac  was  among  them. 

"Are  ye  there,  traitor?"  he  cried.  "Where  is  my 
daughter?" 

Sir  Guy  was  about  to  reply  when  Phcebe  put  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"Hush!"  she  whispered.     "Hearken!" 

Faint  at  first,  but  growing  momentarily  louder, 
there  came  the  clear  trilling  of  a  mysterious  bell. 
It  floated  out  from  the  dark  by-ways  whence  they 
had  themselves  just  emerged,  and  something  eerie 
and  uncanny  in  its  clamor  brought  a  thrill  of 
terror  to  the  young  knight's  nerves  for  the  first 
time. 

"Now,  what  in  God's  name — "  he  began. 

But  he  broke  off  in  horror,  for  there  flashed  past 
336 


HOW  SIR  GUY   KEPT  HIS  TRYST 

him,  as  silent  as  the  wind  and  swifter,  a  dark,  bent 
figure,  with  flying  cloak,  under  which,  as  the  moon 
light  struck  him,  there  whirled  a  web  of  glittering 
tissue  whereon  he  seemed  to  ride.  That  uncanny 
tinkling  floated  back  from  this  strange  vision,  con 
firming  to  the  ear  what  otherwise  might  have  ap 
peared  a  mere  trick  of  the  vision. 

As  for  Sir  Isaac  and  his  band,  the  distant  bell  had 
early  brought  them  to  a  wondering  stand;  and  now, 
as  this  rushing  phantom — trilling — trilling — trilling 
— swept  down  on  a  living  moonbeam,  with  one  ac 
cord  they  put  spurs  to  their  steeds,  and  with  cries 
of  horror  fled  in  all  directions. 

"Forward!"  cried  Phoebe,  exultantly.  "Why,  what 
now!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  saw  her  lover  still  sitting 
petrified  with  fear.  "How  now,  my  knight!  Why 
sit  you  here  amazed?  Is  not  the  way  clear?  Come 
— follow — follow!"  and  she  started  forward  on  a 
trot. 

But  her  lover  did  not  move,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  turn  back.  Laying  her  hand  on  his  arm: 

"Why,  what  ails  thee,  dear  heart?"  she  asked. 

"The  spectre — the  ghostly  steed!"  he  stammered. 

"Oh— oh!"  laughed  Phoebe.  "Why,  this  was  but 
some  venturous  bicyclist  on  his  wheel!" 

"A  bicyclist !"  exclaimed  Sir  Guy.  "Can  you  thus 
give  a  name  to  this  black  phantom,  Mary?" 

"'Tis  naught,  dear  Guy,  believe  me!"  she  said. 
Then,  in  pleading  tones,  she  continued:  "Didst  not 
agree  to  trust  thy  lady,  dear?" 

337 


THE   PANCHRONICON 

The  young  knight  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes 
and  straightened  himself  resolutely  in  his  saddle. 

"E'en  to  the  death,  love.  Lead  on!  I  shall  not 
falter!" 

They  trotted  forward  through  a  now  silent  street 
to  the  bridge,  and  soon  found  themselves  enveloped 
in  the  darkness  and  assailed  by  the  countless  odors 
of  London  Bridge.  From  time  to  time  they  crossed 
a  path  of  moonlight,  and  here  Phoebe  would  smile 
into  the  eyes  of  her  still  much-puzzled  lover  and  mur 
mur  words  of  encouragement. 

Before  they  reached  Southwark,  there  rang  out 
behind  them  the  sound  of  hoofs  upon  the  stones  of 
the  bridge. 

"Can  these  be  your  father's  minions,  think  you?" 
said  Sir  Guy. 

"Nay!"  Phoebe  exclaimed.  "Rest  assured,  they 
were  scattered  too  far  to  dog  our  steps  again  to 
night. 

They  emerged  some  moments  later  on  the  South 
wark  side  and  saw  the  pillory  towering  ahead  of  them. 

"How  far  shall  we  fare  to-night,  love?"  asked  the 
knight. 

"To  Kewington  on  horseback,"  Phoebe  replied, 
"and  then — well,  then  shalt  thou  see  more  faring." 

There  was  a  loud  cry  from  the  bridge,  startling 
the  pair  from  their  fancied  security. 

"There  they  ride!  The  watch,  ho!  Stop  the 
traitor!  Stop  him!  For  the  Queen!  For  the 
Queen!" 

338 


HOW  SIR  GUY  KEPT  HIS  TRYST 

"God  help  us!"  cried  Phoebe.  "  'Tis  the  two  yeo 
men  of  the  Peacock  Inn!" 

With  one  accord  the  pair  clapped  spurs  to  their 
horses'  sides  and  resumed  once  more  the  flight  which 
they  had  thought  concluded. 


339 


CHAPTER   XVII 

EEBECCA'S  TBUMP  CARD 

When  Rebecca  set  out  for  the  Panchronicon  from 
London  Bridge,  she  knew  that  she  had  a  long  walk 
in  prospect,  and  settled  down  to  the  work  with 
dogged  resolution.  Her  trip  was  quite  uneventful 
until  she  neared  the  village  of  Newington,  and  then 
she  realized  for  the  first  time  that  she  did  not  know 
exactly  where  to  find  the  deserted  grove.  One  grove 
looked  much  like  another,  and  how  was  she  to  choose 
between  garden  walls  "as  like  as  two  peas,"  as  she 
expressed  it? 

"Look  here,  Rebecca  Wise,"  she  said,  aloud,  as 
she  paused  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  "you'll  be  lost 
next  you  know!" 

She  looked  about  dubiously  and  shook  her  head. 

"The  thing  fer  you  to  do  is  to  set  right  down  an' 
wait  fer  that  pesky  good-fer-nothin'  Copernicus 
Droop!"  she  remarked,  and  suiting  action  to  speech 
she  picked  her  way  to  a  convenient  mile-stone  and 
seated  herself. 

Having  nothing  better  to  do,  she  began  to  review 
mentally  the  events  of  the  last  two  days,  and  as  she 
recalled  one  after  the  other  the  unprecedented  ad- 

340 


REBECCA'S  TRUMP  CARD 

ventures  which  had  overtaken  her,  she  wondered  in 
a  dreamy  way  what  would  next  befall.  She  built 
hazy  hypotheses,  sitting  there  alone  in  the  moonlight, 
nodding  contentedly.  Suddenly  she  straightened  up, 
realizing  that  she  had  been  aroused  from  a  doze  by 
a  cry  near  at  hand. 

Turning  toward  London,  she  saw  a  wriggling  mass 
about  fifty  feet  away  which,  by  a  process  of  slow 
disentanglement,  gradually  developed  into  a  man's 
form  rising  from  the  ground  and  raising  a  fallen 
bicycle. 

"Darn  the  luck!"  said  this  dark  figure.  "Busted 
my  tire,  sure  as  shootin'!" 

"Copernicus  Droop!"  cried  Rebecca,  in  a  loud 
voice. 

Droop  jumped  high  in  the  air,  so  great  was  his 
nervousness.  Then,  realizing  that  it  was  Rebecca 
who  had  addressed  him,  he  limped  toward  her,  roll 
ing  his  bicycle  beside  him. 

"How  in  creation  did  you  get  here?"  he  asked. 
"Ain't  any  steam-cars  'round  here,  is  there?" 

"Guess  not!"  Rebecca  replied.  "I  come  by  short 
cut  up  river.  I  guessed  you'd  make  fer  the  Pan- 
chronicle,  and  I  jest  made  up  my  mind  to  come,  too. 
Thinks  I,  'that  Copernicus  Droop  ud  be  jest  mean 
enough  to  fly  away  all  by  himself  an'  leave  me  an' 
Phoebe  to  shift  fer  ourselves.'  So  I'm  here  to  go, 
too — an'  what's  more,  we've  got  to  take  Phoebe!" 

"How'll  ye  find  yer  sister,  Cousin  Rebecca?"  said 
Droop.  "We  must  git  out  to-night.  When  the 

341 


THE   PANCHRONICON 

Queen  gets  on  her  ear  like  that,  it's  now  or  never. 
Can  you  find  Cousin  Phoebe  to-night?" 

"Where  is  the  old  machine,  anyhow?"  Rebecca 
asked,  not  heeding  Droop's  question. 

"Right  over  yonder,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  dark 
group  of  trees  a  few  rods  distant. 

"Well,  come  on,  then.  Let's  go  to  it  right  away," 
said  Rebecca.  "I'd  like  to  rest  a  bit.  I'm  tired!" 

"Tired!"  Droop  exclaimed.  "What  about  me, 
then?" 

Without  further  parley,  the  two  set  off  toward 
the  grove  which  Droop  had  indicated.  Having  dwelt 
here  for  several  weeks,  he  knew  his  bearings  well, 
but  it  was  not  until  they  came  much  nearer  to  the 
deserted  mansion  that  Rebecca  recognized  several 
landmarks  which  convinced  her  that  he  had  made 
no  mistake. 

Under  the  trees,  the  shadows  were  so  black  that 
they  were  unable  to  find  the  breach  in  the  wall. 

"Got  any  matches,  Cousin  Rebecca?"  Droop  asked. 

"Yes.  Wait  a  minute  an'  I'll  strike  a  light.  I 
know  that  blessed  hole  is  somewhere  right  near  here." 

She  found  again  her  card  of  matches,  and  breaking 
off  one  of  them,  soon  had  a  tiny  taper  which  lit  up 
their  surroundings  wonderfully. 

"There  'tis!  I've  found  it,"  cried  Droop,  and, 
taking  Rebecca  by  the  arm,  he  led  her  toward  the 
broken  place  in  the  wall.  The  match  went  out  just 
as  they  reached  it. 

Droop  was  about  to  suggest  that  he  go  in  first  to 
342 


REBECCA'S  TRUMP  CARD 

see  if  all  was  well,  when  he  was  startled  by  Rebecca's 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"Hark!"  she  cried. 

He  listened  and  distant  cries  coming  nearer 
through  the  night  were  borne  to  his  ears. 

"What's  that?"  Rebecca  exclaimed  again. 

Rigid  with  excitement  and  dread,  they  stood  there 
listening.  At  length  Droop  pulled  himself  free  of 
Rebecca's  hold. 

"That's  some  o'  them  palace  folks  chasm'  after 
me!"  he  cried,  in  a  panic. 

"Fiddle-dee-dee!"  Rebecca  exclaimed,  with  energy. 
"How  should  they  know  where  you  are?" 

By  this  time  the  sounds  were  more  distinct,  and 
they  could  easily  make  out  cries  of:  "Traitor!  Stop 
him!  For  the  Queen!  Stop  him!" 

The  two  listeners  had  just  mentally  concluded  that 
this  alarm  did  not  in  any  wise  concern  them  when 
Rebecca  was  startled  beyond  measure  to  hear  her 
sister  Phosbe's  voice,  loud  above  all  other  sounds. 

"Nay — nay,  Guy!"  she  was  screaming.  "Stop  not 
to  fight!  Fly — follow!  Shelter  is  here  at  hand!" 

Forgetting  everything  but  possible  danger  for 
Phoebe,  Rebecca  dashed  out  from  under  the  trees. 

There  in  the  moonlight  she  saw  Phoebe  on  horse 
back,  her  head  uncovered,  her  hair  floating  free  and 
her  clothing  in  tatters.  A  few  paces  behind  her  was 
Sir  Guy,  also  mounted,  fiercely  attacking  two  pur 
suing  horsemen  with  his  sword.  Farther  back,  ren 
dered  indistinct  by  distance,  was  a  larger  group  of 

343 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

mingled  horse  and  foot  travellers.  There  was  a  lan 
tern  among  them,  and  Rebecca  inferred  that  the 
watch  was  with  them. 

A  moment  later,  one  of  the  two  men  engaged  with 
Sir  Guy  fell  from  his  horse.  Instantly  the  young 
knight  turned  upon  the  second  pursuer,  who  fled  at 
once  toward  the  larger  group  now  rapidly  approach 
ing. 

Rebecca  ran  forward  and  waved  her  card  of 
matches  frantically,  apparently  thinking  in  her  ex 
citement  that  she  held  a  flag. 

"Here,  Phoebe — here,  child!"  she  screamed.  "This 
way,  quick!  Here  we  are  awaitin'  fer  ye.  Come, 
quick — quick!" 

With  a  loud  cry  of  joy,  Phoebe  slipped  from  her 
horse  and  ran  toward  her  sister. 

"Oh,  Rebecca,  Rebecca!"  she  cried,  throwing  her 
self  into  her  sister's  arms.  "Oh,  you  dear,  lovely, 
sweet  old  darling!" 

Rebecca  kissed  her  younger  sister  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  almost  as  affected  as  the  girl  herself,  who 
was  now  laughing  and  crying  hysterically  on  her 
breast. 

While  they  stood  thus  tightly  locked  in  each 
other's  arms,  Guy  came  to  their  side  with  sword  in 
hand. 

"Quick!"  he  said,  sharply.  "You  must  away  to 
shelter.  Here  comes  the  watch  apace.  I  will  pro 
tect  the  rear." 

The  two  women  started  apart  and  Phoebe  set  for- 
344 


REBECCA'S  TRUMP  CARD 

ward  obediently,  but  Rebecca  only  gave  the  fast- 
approaching  crowd  a  look  of  proud  contempt. 

"Fiddle-ends!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  go  on  ahead, 
Guy.  I'll  fix  them  queer  folks!" 

Whether  Rebecca's  voice  convinced  him  of  her 
power  to  make  good  her  words  or  that  he  felt  his 
first  duty  was  at  Phrebe's  side,  the  fact  is  that  the 
young  knight  strode  forward  with  his  sweetheart 
toward  the  breach  in  the  wall,  leaving  Rebecca  be 
hind  to  bear  the  first  attack. 

Droop  had  already  passed  within  the  enclosure 
and  was  groping  his  way  toward  the  black  mass  of 
the  Panchronicon. 

Phcebe,  led  by  an  accurate  memory  of  her  sur 
roundings,  had  but  little  difficulty  in  finding  the 
opening,  and,  by  her  voice,  Sir  Guy  and  Rebecca 
were  guided  to  it. 

Phoebe  passed  through  first  and  Sir  Guy  followed 
just  as  the  advance  guard  of  the  pursuing  mob  rushed 
under  the  trees,  swinging  their  two  lanterns  and 
shouting  aloud: 

"Here — this  way!     We  have  'em  fast!" 

Rebecca  coolly  stooped  and  drew  the  edge  of  her 
entire  card  of  matches  across  a  stone  at  her  feet. 
Then,  standing  erect,  she  thrust  the  sulphurous  blue 
blaze  into  the  faces  of  two  rough-looking  fellows  just 
advancing  to  seize  her. 

Sir  Guy,  who  stood  within  the  wall,  found  cause 
for  deep  amazement  in  the  yell  of  startled  fear  with 
which  Rebecca's  act  was  met;  and  deeper  yet  grew 

345 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

his  astonishment  when  that  cry  was  re-echoed  by  the 
whole  terror-stricken  mob,  who  turned  as  one  man 
to  flee  from  this  flaming,  sulphurous  sorceress. 

Rebecca  quietly  waited  until  the  sulphur  had 
burned  off  and  the  wood  blazed  bright  and  clear. 
Then  she  pushed  through  the  broken  wall  and  showed 
the  way  to  their  destination  by  the  light  of  the  small 
torch. 

Sir  Guy's  feelings  may  be  imagined  when  he  sud 
denly  found  that  they  were  all  four  standing  before 
a  strangely  formed  structure  in  the  side  of  which 
Copernicus  had  just  opened  a  door. 

"Why,  Mary !"  he  exclaimed,  pausing  in  his  walk. 
"What  have  we  here?" 

She  took  his  hand  with  a  smile  and  drew  him  gent 
ly  forward. 

"Trust  thy  Mary  yet  further,  Guy,"  she  said. 
"Thy  watchword  must  be,  'Trust  and  question  not.* ' 

He  smiled  in  reply  and,  sheathing  his  sword, 
stepped  boldly  forward  into  the  interior  of  the  Pan- 
chronicon.  Phoebe  knew  the  power  of  superstition 
in  that  age,  and  she  glowed  with  pride  and  tender 
ness,  conscious  that  in  this  act  of  faith  in  her  the 
knight  evinced  more  courage  than  ever  he  might 
need  to  bear  him  well  in  battle. 

When  the  electric  lights  shed  a  sudden  bright 
glare  down  the  spiral  staircase,  Sir  Guy  cowered  and 
stopped  .short  again,  turning  pale  with  a  fear  irre 
pressible.  But  Phoebe  put  one  arm  about  his  neck 
and  drew  his  head  down  to  hers,  whispering  in  his 

346 


REBECCA'S  TRUMP  CARD 

ear.  What  she  said  none  heard  save  him,  but  the 
spell  of  her  words  was  potent,  for  the  young  knight 
stood  erect  once  more  and  firmly  ascended  to  the 
room  above. 

Droop  stood  nervously  waiting  at  the  engine-room 
door. 

"Are  ye  all  in?"  he  said,  sharply.  "Where's 
Cousin  Rebecca?" 

"Here  I  be!"  came  a  voice  from  below.  "I'm  jest 
lockin'  the  door  tight." 

"Well,  hurry  up — hurry!  Come  up  here  an'  lay 
down.  I'm  goin'  to  start." 

In  a  few  moments  all  was  in  readiness.  Droop 
pulled  the  lever,  and  with  a  roar  and  a  mighty  bound 
the  Panchronicon,  revived  by  its  long  period  of  wait 
ing,  sped  upward  into  the  night. 

As  the  four  fugitives  sat  upright  again,  and  Droop, 
rubbing  his  hands  with  satisfaction,  was  about  to 
speak,  the  door  of  one  of  the  bedchambers  was 
opened,  and  a  stranger  dressed  in  nineteenth-century 
attire  stepped  forward,  shading  his  blinking  eyes  with 
his  hand. 

The  two  women  screamed,  but  Droop  only  dropped 
amazed  into  a  chair. 

"Francis  Bacon!"  he  exclaimed. 

Then,  leaping  forward  eagerly,  he  cried  aloud: 

"Gimme  them  clothes!" 

Of  the  return  trip  of  the  five,  little  need  be  said 
save  to  record  one  untoward  incident  which  has  been 

347 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

the  occasion  of  a  most  unfortunate  historic  contro 
versy. 

The  date-recording  instrument  must  have  been  de 
ranged  in  some  way,  for  when,  after  a  great  number 
of  eastward  turns  around  the  pole,  it  marked  the 
year  1898,  they  had  really  only  reached  1857.  Sup 
posing  themselves  to  have  actually  reached  the  year 
erroneously  indicated  by  the  recorder,  they  set  off 
southward  and  made  a  first  landing  in  Hartford, 
Connecticut. 

Here  they  discovered  their  mistake,  and  returned 
to  the  pole  to  complete  their  journey  in  time.  All 
but  Francis  Bacon.  He  declared  that  so  much  whirl 
ing  made  him  giddy,  and  remained  in  Connecticut. 
Alas!  Had  Phoebe  known  the  result  of  this  deser 
tion,  she  would  never  have  consented  to  it. 

Bacon,  who  had  read  much  of  Shakespeare  while 
in  the  Panchronicon,  found  on  returning  thus  acci 
dentally  to  modern  America,  that  this  playwright 
was  esteemed  the  first  and  greatest  of  poets  and 
dramatists  by  the  modern  world.  Then  and  there 
he  planned  a  conspiracy  to  rob  the  greatest  charac 
ter  in  literary  history  of  his  just  fame;  and,  under 
the  pseudonym  of  "Delia  Bacon,"  advanced  those 
theories  of  his  own  concealed  authorship  which  have 
ever  since  deluded  the  uncritical  and  disgusted  all 
lovers  of  common-sense  and  of  justice. 

Copernicus  Droop,  on  returning  his  three  remain 
ing  passengers  to  their  proper  dates  and  addresses, 
discovered  that  his  sole  remaining  phonograph,  with 

348 


REBECCA'S  TRUMP  CARD 

certain  valuable  records  of  Elizabethan  origin,  had 
disappeared.  As  he  owed  a  grudge  to  Francis  Bacon, 
that  worthy  fell  at  once  under  suspicion,  and  accord 
ingly  Droop  promptly  returned  to  1857,  sought  out 
the  deserter,  and  charged  him  with  having  stolen 
these  instruments. 

It  was  not  until  the  accused  man  had  indignantly 
denied  all  knowledge  of  Droop's  property  that  the 
crestfallen  Yankee  recollected  that  he  had  left  the 
apparatus  in  question  in  the  deserted  mansion  of 
Newington,  where  he  had  stored  it  for  greater  safety 
after  Bacon's  first  unexpected  visit. 

Without  hesitation,  he  determined  to  return  to 
1598  and  reclaim  his  own.  Bacon,  who  had  learned 
from  modern  historical  works  of  the  brilliant  future 
in  store  for  himself  in  England,  begged  Droop  to 
take  him  back;  and  as  an  atonement  for  his  unjust 
accusation,  Droop  consented. 

It  is  not  generally  known  that,  contrary  to  com 
mon  report,  Francis  Bacon  was  not  arrested  for  debt 
in  1598;  but  that,  during  the  time  he  was  supposed 
to  have  been  in  prison,  he  was  actually  engaged  in 
building  up  in  his  own  behalf  the  greatest  hoax  in 
history. 

Let  those  who  may  be  inclined  to  discredit  this 
scrupulously  authentic  chronicle  proceed  forthwith 
to  Peltonville,  New  Hampshire,  and  there  ask  for 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Guy  Fenton.  From  them  will  be 
gained  complete  corroboration  of  this  history,  not 

349 


THE  PANCHRONICON 

only  in  the  account  which  they  will  give  of  their  own 
past  adventures,  but  in  the  unmistakable  Elizabethan 
flavor  distinguishable  to  this  day  in  their  speech  and 
manner.  Indeed,  the  single  fact  that  both  ale  and 
beer  are  to  be  found  behind  their  wood-pile  should 
be  convincing  evidence  on  this  point. 

As  for  Rebecca,  fully  convinced  at  last  of  the  mar 
vellous  qualities  of  the  Panchronicon,  she  never  tires 
of  taking  her  little  nephew,  Isaac  Burton  Wise  Fen- 
ton,  on  her  knee  and  telling  him  of  her  amazing  ad 
ventures  in  the  palace  of  <cMiss  Tudor." 


350 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


<pPR  0-7'-1997 
i  UN 

"TREK 

ru- 

Dtc  l 


DOE  2  WRS  FROM 

UCLA  ACCESS 

\r6r30U^ers"Be|eerc, 

BCX951575  9C  095 

LOS  Angeles,  <~ 

t  nU8 


OWE  BEDEWED 


Library 
-1575 


PS3525,       M189P 


A    000  929  333     3 


University 
Southen 
Library 


